Broken Connections
by SleeplessMan
Summary: Daria, her family, and her friends are broken apart by crime, greed, and misunderstanding.
1. Chapter 1

"Hello. You have called the Hot Young Women chatline. If you will please give me your name and credit card number, we will connect you to one of our gorgeous girls, waiting to talk to you!"

Daria got the all clear from the terminal, and connected the call to Rosie Kurtz, a seventy-year-old woman who did this to supplement her Social Security checks.

_Damn that Jane!_ Daria thought sourly,_ Just a little bit of online gambling, who would it hurt? _

_Me, that's who! I was the one the ATF busted! Expelled from college, folks aren't talking to me, and Quinn married to Tom Sloan! If I didn't know the only painting Jane was doing anymore was detailing cars, I'd go nuts. What else could screw up my life? _

"Hello. You have called the Hot Young Women chatline. If you will please give me your name and credit card number, we will connect you to one of our gorgeous girls, waiting to talk to you!" The all clear shone on the terminal, but the other lines showed busy.

_Damn! I hate to do this myself! _

Daria cleared her throat, hit the connect button, and whispered throatily into the mike.

"Hi, I'm Quinn, and I'll be your mistress of the night. What's your name?"

Daria's small feeling of revenge vanished as she heard a familiar voice.

"Wow, Quinn! My name's Jake! I've got a daughter with your name, isn't that something?"

(WacoKid)

"Daddy?" Daria said into the headset, her voice made small and childlike by shock.

"Oh, yeah," Jake moaned back, "You know just the fantasy I want. Tell Daddy what a bad girl you've been so he can give you a spanking!"

(Brother Grimace)

"Yes, honey - tell Daddy exactly what you've done," Helen's voice cooed, and a cold shudder went up Daria's spine. "I warned you, honey - just wait until your father comes home . . . "

(Sleepless)

Daria's mind reeled in shock. This couldn't be happening to her! Her last encounter with her mother loomed large in her mind, the bitterness, the angry words, that forced their way from her tight throat. And now to hear her like this! A word Daria hadn't said in years painfully forced its way out of her.

"Mommy?"

A long silence followed. Then the tight, suspicious voice Daria remembered so well snapped out of the phone.

"Daria? Daria! You little sneak! How did you get on this line!"

"I work here, **Mother**!"

"I'll bet you do! You probably tapped our phone lines after you walked out the door!"

"Like I'd have the money to do anything like that! Don't you want to finish your business, Mom! Don't you and Dad want to punish your "bad girl!" Do you drag Quinn into your sick little fantasies?"

"Our fantasies have nothing to do with you or your sister! If Jake and I want to play a little game every once in a while, that's our business. The only "fantasy" I ever had about you was wanting to you to graduate college, and be a success, not the crime of the week!"

Daria's fingers fumbled blindly for the terminal, but a soft, gentle hand held hers, and overrode the extension.

"I'm very sorry you didn't find our service satisfactory, sir or ma'am. Please call back at a future time, and have a nice day."

Rosie cut off the connection, and handed Daria a handful of facial tissue. Daria wiped her face off, still feeling the hot tears leaking from her eyes. The other operators looked at Daria with concern and surprise.

"Daria, go into the restroom and wash your face, okay? It's a busy night, and I have to get back there. You know Mr. Mendoza is going to want to know about what happened, too."

Sal Mendoza, the owner, and Daria's boss, had made her the manager of the operation. She dreaded having to tell the man about what had happened, but he would have the phone logs, and know something was up.

_Thank, you, mom and dad! What a way to connect back with them! Damn it! I've worked here long enough to know that most of what goes on are harmless fantasies! I'd trust my parents with my life, just not my mental health. What little I have left, that is!_

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

"Daria, that's really tough! Your own folks, too. Well, you've done good work for me here. I'll let this slide, okay? But be careful from now on. I can't afford any trouble, and I really don't want a lawyer after me."

"Especially this one," Daria said dryly.

"Ahh! There's my freeze-dried office manager! Personal business always screws people up! Now, you go home and get some sleep, okay?"

Mendoza could be hard to deal with, but he was basically a fair man, Daria thought as she caught the bus that morning to go home. This early, the bus was still half empty, and she was able to find a seat by herself, fairly clean. It still smelled bad, however. She leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window, soothing her raging headache.

_So the folks are still as active as ever. They always were "feisty," as Ruttheiner used to say back at Lawndale High. Great, another thought I didn't want to dredge up! Still after everything else I've been through lately, remembering Upchuck's favorite phrase is the least of my troubles._

Daria got off the bus at her stop and trudged wearily to her apartment. She used her door key to let herself into the building, and checked her mail automatically. There were the usual bills, as well as a notice from her parole officer, that their next meeting was going to be next week.

_I suppose with such a high profile case, and only a very new public defender, I was really lucky I didn't go to prison. Mom was so furious when Raft expelled me! She was torn between that and Quinn's wedding to Tom, and naturally the press went after them, too. When the paparazzi couldn't get any revealing shots of me, they went after Quinn and Tom during their honeymoon. The folks were mortified when that topless picture of Quinn sunbathing went public. Tom's parents tried to sue, but the picture was already out, and on the Internet. Everybody blamed the whole mess on me, again. Dad had a nervous breakdown from the whole thing, Mom got so stressed out by everything that she . . . _

_Totally disowned me._

The thought still hurt, even a year later.

Daria let herself into the tiny apartment that was all she could afford on her current salary. True, the bed was older than she was, but the second hand mattress wasn't too bad. The pipes rattled, the air conditioning seldom worked, and hot water was hard to come by in the tiny shower, but at least it didn't have any mice. She was still waging a battle against the cockroaches, however.

A small radio was all she could afford, that and the cranky electric typewriter she used to write with.That was something else she missedbut being forbidden to use computers had been part of her paroleShe also had no personal phone, though that was a matter of the ancient apartment building, rather than anything legally.

_It's not like I have anybody to call. Sal, Rosie, and the rest of the staff at the chatline are okay, but we don't really have anything in common, other than Rosie trying to set me up all the time, bless her heart. At least Sal doesn't expect me to "put out" for the honor of working there, like the last boss I had at that truck stop. Still makes me feel dirty just to think about it. _

_Jane turning states evidence to clear herself hurt the most, though. My one true friend, my "amiga", and she does that! It didn't help her, though. She got expelled, just like I did. Her career did a nose dive, when people expected her to do radical art, in connection with her bad girl image, and she couldn't do anything at all. Was it guilt? I've never been able to talk to her face to face, so I don't really know what the DA might have used against her. I'd really like to think she was forced to testify against me._

Daria carefully checked her small bathroomfloor, but other than the ratty rug, and long cracked linoleum, there wasn't anything there. Still, she carefully shook out her slippers, bath towel, and nightgown before sheundressedShe carefully laid her glasseson the shelf beneath the cracked bathroom mirror, before she gingerly stepped into the tiny shower.

As usual, the water was almost freezing, but still a bit warmer than normal. She jammed her feet into the slippers, drying as fast as she could, before slipping into her nightshirt. It clung to her slender frame, and after she put her glasses back on, she surveyed herself critically.

_Nope, Quinn still has it over me. At least mine isn't all over the world though, and likely the screen saver of choice for every guy she ever dated in Lawndale. I wonder how she and Tom are doing, anyway. I saw in one of those celebrity gossip rags a story that she had to get therapy for a nervous shock. I really think she got married too soon, but nobody was listening to me at all at the time._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Jane Lane looked at her latest artistic creation with a critical eyecomparing it to the picture she had used as a reference, then sighed. The happy couple stood on the side on the van frowning at what they had just paid for. The young woman was still pouting.

"I don't like it!" Maria had snapped for the tenth time.

"Why? I painted it exactly the way you said too, Miss." Jane said, adding under her breath, _lousy, spoiled brat._

"It makes me look fat!_"_

True, the young woman was a bit, well, hefty, but Jane had painted her looking like Jennifer Lopez, as requested by the nervous husband, who was visibly sweating. He gave Jane an imploring look out of the corner of his eyes, safely behind his wife's back.

"No, young lady, it makes you look, voluptuous!" Jane was relieved she had managed to retrieve the V-word from her subconscious.

"It makes you look alive, facing the world, a proud woman, you are sensual, with your dark eyes, and pouting lips, a mystery to all, but known only to yourself, brave and bold!"

Maria's eyes had lit up, and she impulsively grabbed Jane, giving her a heart felt hug. Jane gasped in pain.

'You do understand me, my inner torment! You, and you alone, have painted my soul! Gracias, gracias, Miss Jane!"

Behind her, the husband sighed discreetly, in unseen relief.

Cash tucked firmly into her pants pocket, Jane waved goodbye as the shiny black van pulled out of the garage. In the next stall of the old garage, another artist was working on a Harley, covering the wheel covers and gas tank with graphic images of demons writhing in flames. It was exquisite work, and Jane had to admit, creepy as it was, she honestly admired it

_Not quite the kind of art I had planned, but at least it's art, and puts food on the table. I have a bit more sympathy to that Allison that tried to pick me up in art camp, now. You do have to lie through your teeth sometimes to make a sale, and if you can have a little fun on the side, go for it. Things look a bit different now, when every car, van or bike I can paint keeps me going._

She waited until the other artist had stopped, and was looking over his own work.

"Nice job, Angel!_"_

"Thanks, Jane, do you think the perspective on this leg is okay?"

"Well, considering that it's covered with scales, and hooked around the gas line, I'd say it's perfectI don't know how you do it so well._"_

Angels teethflashed inhis dark face. He was an intense young man, who thrust himself into his work. He supported a very pregnant wife, and was very nervous about their first child, due any day now. Jane smiled at him, then began to pull at the chains on the pulleys of the old garage doors, bringing hers down with a loud thump, then crossed over, and did the one to Angel's stall, too.

The two then walked down the street to the old apartment building she lived in. The streets were starting to get dark early, and the day-glo paint the local kids had used to paint graffiti on the mostly decaying building around her cheered Jane up. There were some really good artists doing it, and Jane could remember her own early experimentation, back in Lawndale

"Jane, would you like to come to dinner, tonight? You know Helen would love to have you

there, _"_

_Well, that makes one Helen that would be glad to see me!_

Jane smiled, but shook her head.

"Thanks, but no thanks, Angel, I love Helen's cooking, but isn't your mother-in-law having dinner with you, tonight?"

"That's why I wanted you there!"

"Some friend! Using me to distract her?"

"You have figured my plan!"

Laughing, they entered the old building, Jane using her passkey to get past the security door. Jane continued up the stairs, to her apartment on the top, third floor. The old door scraped across the bare wood floor of the almost empty living room. The light of the setting sun highlighted the old buildings in the once proud neighborhoodlending them an almost mystical glow.The streetlight and building signs were just starting to turn on, and Jane gingerly sat down on the one chair in her apartment, hearing it creak under her slim frame, but still holding together.

_Well, another day in paradise. I shouldn't complain, really_. _I have a job, Angel is a great guy to work with, and I'm painting, and getting paid for it._ _Still, I'd have really liked to have gotten my degree at BFAC, and Daria ... _

_Daria no doubt still thinks I'm the dirtiest, backstabbing rat that ever lived. I trashed both our lives, and then I had to publically blame her for the whole thing_. _They wouldn't even let me explain anything to her_. _Damn it, it was only supposed to be a little bit of online gambling! _

Jane's mind flashed back to the fiasco's beginning. She had been doing a little drinking in a quiet little pub near the campus. Daria, as usual, had studying to do, and Jane just wanted to kick back and relax a bit. The quiet place was an artists hangout, and Jane saw several of her fellow students in there as well. Several were huddled together, talking quietly, and Jane felt a flash of loneliness.

One young man in particular caught her wandering eye. He was tall, blonde, with flashing blue eyes. He glanced over at Jane, and they both blushed when they caught each others eye at the same time. They both looked away for a moment, and then his eyes widened when he saw her pick up her sketchbook, and walk over to his table. She laid her open sketchbook in front of him, and he glanced down at it, and then looked again.

Jane had sketched him, sitting at the table, his arm resting on the tabletop, looking over at something while he sketched on his own pad. Looking down at his work, she saw he had sketched her sketching him. He had deeply shadowed the whole scene, but Jane still liked what she saw, and not just the picture.

"Hi, my name is Jane."

He smiled at her, and took her hand, kissing it. Jane looked at him in some surprise.

"My name is Dimitri." He replied with just a trace of an accent. Jane felt an electric pulse shoot through her whole body.

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Quinn huddled alone in the center of the big bed, shivering uncontrollably. The silken sheets on the gigantic mahogany bed, once the height of fashion to her, now were so flimsy, so fragile. She longed for plain cotton, but was afraid to ask Tomto change them. He would, but she had disappointed him so much already. The cold rain beat sporadically at the windowsof the big Sloanehome at the Cove.

_I love Tom, I really do! He's so witty, so charming! He loves me, her really does love me! I liked him when he was seeing Daria. Our dating was so magical. I felt so alive when we talked. We went to ballet, we saw opera's, we went ice skating, and yachting. My friends at college was so jealous! Stacy was so excited every time we talked, even Sandi hung on my every word, damn her! _

As usual, the sheer thought of her sister and her former friend plunged Quinn into a whirlpool of shame and guiltconfusion and despair. She sat up, her hand automatically reaching for the glass of water waiting there, and the small bottle of pills. Her small hand trembled, her soft fingers just touching her antidepressants, before she grabbed her robe with a curse, sliding her feet into the waiting slippers.

As usual, her feet slid slightly on the polished wooden floor. The first time it had happened, on their honeymoon, she had slid right into Tom's waiting arms. He had scooped her up, wearing his own brown silk pajamas, carried her to the big waiting bed, and then ...

Even a year later, Quinn blushed at how that night had turned out. Tom had been so understanding. But it wasn't his fault, and it wasn't even Daria's or that bitch Sandi's fault! They had both been so stressed. Quinn still had nightmares from the media circus that had greeted them when she had left the chapel doors, now that she was Mr's Tom Sloane! She was still feeling the rosy glow from saying, "I do", everybody was smiling at each other. Daria hadn't attended, Mom had said that Daria was having some legal problems, but it wasn't anything serious. Honestly, Quinn had been always worried about Daria's reaction to her marriage to tom, but the few times she had seen her, Daria always smiled and said everything was okay.

"Mr. Sloane! How do you feel about the federal indictments this morning charging Grace, Sloane and Page with laundrying money for the Russian Mafia?"

"What!" Angier Sloane looked totally off guard for the only time Quinn had ever seen him.

Another reporter broke out of the shouting mass of cameras."Mr. Morgendorffer! Do you think this indictment will affect your daughters marriage into the Sloane family?"

Jake had frozen, while Helen snapped fiercely, "No comment!"

"Tom Sloane! What do you think about the fact that the two federal witness's are former girlfriends of yours, your wife's sister, Daria, and a Jane Lane?"

"No, that's a lie, my sister wouldn't do anything like that! Not today! Not on this of all days!"

Quinn's statement had been screamed out at the top of her lungs, each word louder the one before. Everybody stared at her, all quiet, cameras clicking and whirring. Quinn was gasping, choking, and Tom's hold on her arm tightened.

"Give her some room! Let her breathe, for heavens sake!"

And then the last straw had broken the camels back. A middle aged blonde woman, with a tight, superior smile shouted out of the withdrawing mob of reporters.

"Mr. Sloane! What do you think of the charges in Sandi Griffin's new book that your new wife hasn't been a virgin since age fourteen?"

With a roar of fury Jake had thrown off Helens hand and lunged for her. The woman's smirk had vanished in a instant. Angier Sloane tackled his son's new father in law, and the two men feel to the ground in a heap. Jake writhed in a cold fury, and Helen waded into the pileup grabbing her husband. Katherine Sloane started snapping orders, clearing the crowd away, and helping the bridesmaids carry Quinn back inside the chapel. Stacy Rowe had been in a state of shock, but followed orders. Tiffany hadn't been able to come, and everybody there now knew why Sandi had begged off.

_That was the first day of my new married life. Thank you, Sandi, thank you, Daria, and thank you, Jane. _

Quinn made her way to the liquor cabinet, staring at the fine selection behind the smoked glass. The bottles glistened back at her, promising if not forgetfulness, then at least a temporary amnesia. Unseen in the dark room, Tom stared sadly at Quinn's back, not making a sound.


	2. Chapter 2

"Daddy?" The lonely question followed Jake down the sidewalk as he fled from his wife and home. His frantic run soon settled down to a steady trot, as his body's reflexes took over his legs. His breathing adjusted itself, and slowly his emotions cooled. His frantic thoughts settled down. His heart's rhythm pumped evenly, as he slowly jogged along the suburban sidewalk. It was fairly late, but he could still hear the signs of people talking, children playing, the sounds of different shows on televisions. The high-pitched sounds of children's voices drifted through the night air, the voices of little girl's especially clear.

"Daddy, give me a pony ride?"

Jake choked back a sob. Daria had stopped calling him "Daddy" almost the first day of school, He still remembered how she had looked then, always so solemn, with her thick glasses, a book clenched tightly in her hands. She was always reading, never playing. Her refusal to involve herself in games with the other children had resulted in a meeting with a school counselor.

"Now, Daria . . . I want you to tell me what you see when you look at the picture."

She held up an inkblot. Daria peered intensely at it, frowning, then shrugged.

"What do you mean? That's not a picture."

"Well, not the kind of picture we're used to seeing. This picture lets _you_ make up what it's about."

"Then why don't I just draw my own picture?"

" For instance . . . one little boy or girl might look at it and see a fire truck or a house. Another might see a herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains."

"It's just a black splotch."

The doctor had sighed.

"Daria, what's your favorite game to play at recess?"

"I don't like games. I like to read."

"Don't you enjoy playing with the other children?"

"Not really. They never understand what I'm talking about and then they make fun of me. I like to read."

Helen and Jake had exchanged glances then. Later, they had been driving home, with Jake driving, Helen next to him in the front seat, and Daria and Quinn in the back seat. Jake had hesitantly tried again.

"I'm just saying, Daria. If you give the other boys and girls a chance, you might find someone you like. It takes all kinds."

"I like lots of kids!"

Daria's little blonde sister was bouncing in her car seat on a sugar high. Helen had sighed. They weren't getting any sleep that night.

"They call me egghead." Daria had muttered.

"Sweetie, it's a little hard for your father and me to keep taking time off from work to talk to the counselor. Why don't you meet us halfway and try talking to the other kids?"

"They don't say anything that interests me."

"I talk a lot to the other kids, and they talk back!"

Jake had pulled up into the driveway of their highland, Texas home just then. Helen tried one last time.

"Daria, how do you know they don't interest you?"

"I'm tired."

"I'm not tired!

"Well, I don't know what to do. I'm at my wits' end."

Helen paced back and forth. Jake had sat at the couch, massaging the throbbing headache that had started when he had gone to work that morning. Suddenly it just all had overwhelmed him, and he jumped to his feet and started to yell.

"Dammit, Helen, that's it! I go in there every day to face a psychotic boss, a job that makes me feel like a freakin' slave, then I have to come home and deal with this? How much am I supposed to take?"

"Jake, this isn't about you. It's about her, having a little trouble fitting in."

"She doesn't _want_ to fit in, damn it! Why can't you admit that!"

"Jake, she's a child, she doesn't know any better!"

"That's what she _wants_ you to believe!"

"Where are you going!"

He had trembled with fury, his fists clenched. The fear in Helen's face was a dash of cold water, the fear from one of Mad Dogs rages.

_Not from me, old man!_

Jake grabbed the car keys from the hook by the door and slammed out of the house. Gunning the engine, he roared out of the driveway. After spending the night at a dingy, little motel, he had gown home, he and Helen had made up, and life had gone on.

But things had changed. Daria had always been so adult like. Now, Jake felt awkward over treating her like a little girl. Slowly, the hugs and kisses had faded away. The one thing he had held onto was calling her "Kiddo.' Even that was mostly a slip of the tongue. In that monotone voice she had adopted so early, she started calling her parents "mom" and "dad." Helen said it was only a phase, but it turned into a phase that didn't end.

Then Quinn was born, the stereotypical, almost hyperactive little girl. So pink, so cute, so bubbly, always babbling about anything. Daria finally displayed a normal human emotion.

Jealousy.

Without dropping her shell, she competed with Quinn as fiercely as possible, constantly steering her into trouble, and sometimes worse. After one incident where young Daria had held the door open, and toddler Quinn nearly walked out the door, and would have fallen down a flight of stairs, a frantic Helen had grabbed her youngest daughter from harms way. Quinn had been terrified by her mother's scream and sudden lunge, and Jake had to comfort the little girl, while Helen laid down the law to Daria.

"Daria! I am so angry with you right now! Why did you nearly let your sister fall down those stairs?"

"I don't like her. I wanted her to go away."

"What! Why don't you like her? She's your little sister!"

"I don't care. She's loud and noisy. She tears up my books, and stains all the pages."

"Daria, she's just a baby. She doesn't know any better. She doesn't mean to hurt your things."

"I don't care. I don't like her. I want her to go away."

"Daria, she's not going to go away. She's your little sister, and you have to help take care of her, like your Dad and I took care of you when you were a baby."

"You don't like Aunt Rita and Aunt Amy, and they are your sisters. Why do I have to like Quinn?"

Helen and Jake had both winced at that statement. Trust Daria to have picked up on how the Barksdale sisters got along!

"Daria, " Helen said carefully, "You're right. Your aunts, my sisters, and I don't get along like we should. But we still love each other, and we wouldn't like to see each other get hurt."

"Really?" Daria said skeptically. "You said you'd like to strangle Aunt Rita sometimes, and that Aunt Amy deserves a good swift kick in her . . . "

Helen groaned at her daughters cross examination.

"Honey. I shouldn't have said those things. I love Rita and Amy, it's just sometimes that we get on each other nerves, like Quinn does when she plays with your books. Sometimes I don't like them, but I still love them."

"How can you love somebody, but not like them?" Daria said with a frown. Helen had sighed deeply.

"Daria, that's hard to explain, but it happens all the time. Now, do you really want Quinn to be hurt?"

"No, she's too noisy anyway."

"Daria, that's not what I asked. You're her big sister, and I need to trust you. Will you promise me that you won't let Quinn get hurt or lost?"

"Do I have to?"

"No, but I'd trust you if you did promise. You don't like it when you get hurt or scared, do you?"

"No."

"Then do you think Quinn would?"

"No-o." Daria said slowly. She stared down at her feet, then looked up.

"All right, I promise not to let Quinn get hurt or lost. But," she added with determination, "I still don't like her."

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Jake pushed himself harder down the street.

"So my mom babies me, my old man ships me off to military school, Helen constantly bickers with her mother and sisters, and I have no idea of anything about my older sister, other than her name, Joan. She left home so early I can't even remember her, and she never came back, wrote home, or anything. A fine example we all gave the girls of family relationships. And now this! Great going, Jake! My own little girl! I said those things to her! What kind of a sick freak am I !"

Jake came back to an awareness of his surroundings when the pavement under his running shoes changed into gravel. Startled, he skidded to a halt, and looked around in confusion. Instead of running through town, he had left it. He was standing at the old quarry.

This late in the evening, the abandoned pit was lost in darkness. A rickety chain link fence was all there was to keep people who used this popular make out spot from accidently driving off the rim. There was an assortment of empty bottles and cans, liquor and soda both, as well as snacks, and condom wrappers.

There was only a single car parked there, barely visible in the darkness. Jake saw a flash as somebody sitting on the hood of the car lit up a cigarette. The face was that of a young woman in her late twenties. Her face was lean, gaunt, with a square chin. She was more handsome than pretty. Jake had a nagging sense of familiarity, like he had seen her once before. She inhaled deeply, before letting out a long plume of smoke, before she spoke. Her voice was deep, throaty.

"I heard you run up, so either leave or say something. And don't get any ideas. I can take care of myself just fine."

Jake gulped, and stuttered, "I'm sorry, miss, I got turned around running, and I was confused. I didn't mean to bother you."

"No bother. You're a jogger, huh? Why?"

"Um, my heart. I have hypertension and high blood pressure."

"Stressed out, middle-aged executive type? Complete with wife and two point five kids?"

Jake gulped in panic, then realized she was teasing him.

"Um, right. Guilty on all counts."

"Want a smoke?"

"No, um, thanks. The old heart, you know."

"R-i-i-ght." Her voice trailed off, and she patted the hood of the car in an obvious invitation. Jake hesitated, then walked over and sat stiffly down on the hood. The smooth metal was warm from the heat of the engine, but not hot, and it soothed his stiff leg muscles.

"It's my birthday, you know." She added after a few minutes.

"Um, happy birthday miss, uh . . . "

"Monique, my name's Monique."

"Happy Birthday, Monique."

"Thanks, and what's your name?"

"Jake, Jake Morgendorffer."

"Nice to meet you, Jake."

"Nice to meet you, Monique. Uh, mind if I ask you a question?"

"Depends on the question, doesn't it, Jake?"

Jake hesitated, but then plunged ahead.

"If this is your birthday, why are you here by yourself, in a place like this?"

Monique took a last long drag on the butt of her cigarette before she flipped it into the pit. She folded her arms across her narrow chest, staring ahead into the darkness. She was very quiet. Her face, dim in the darkness, was immobile, like that of a plaster angel in a graveyard, Jake suddenly thought, not knowing why he did. She wasn't a young woman any more to him, but a little girl, a lost and lonely little girl, just like Quinn and Daria. Then she raised her eyes to his, and he saw that she was far more lost than his own daughters could ever imagine being. Her dark eyes captured his, and they seemed to draw him inside, into her empty, aching, soul.

"You ever been abused by somebody you really, really trusted, Jake?"

Jake's usual rant about his father's treatment of him, the whole military school thing guttered faintly, but he choked on it, staring deeply into Monique's dark eyes.

"My old man, always called him Mad Dog, made me go to Buxton Ridge Military Academy before he let me go to college. He was always trying to make a man out of me," he ended weakly.

"I never knew my dad. He left home before I was born. Mom never liked to talk about him. She always wanted more company than me, so there was always a guy of some sort hanging around all the time. Most of them didn't last too long. The one that did . . . "

Monique sighed, pulling out another cigarette. Jake stayed quiet, staring at her dim form through the darkness. Her pale face was very distinct, her eyes huge pits of shadow.

"Of course, he was the one I had really liked, too. He used to do little things for me, buy me little things, and then one night he came over when Mom was working, and he, he . . . "

They were both quiet after that. Jake still sat next to her, staring ahead in the darkness. Monique was dry eyed, her voice matter of fact, almost emotionless, like she was discussing a movie she had once seen. The unspoken reality behind her words filled Jake's mind, though, with horrific images of a smiling little girl, greeting her mother's friend. He used his sweat soaked shirt to mop his tear-covered face.

"I tried to tell mom, of course, but she blew up at me. Said I was trying to steal the best man she had every meet, that I had seduced him. I couldn't stay at home after that, so I left home that night, and never went back."

Jake sat frozen, hardly breathing, not daring to say anything, and hating himself for being so helpless. He would have given his own girls a firm hug, but he was afraid to touch this scarred street child.

Still in that same monotone voice that reminded him so much of Daria(and what horrors was she facing, he suddenly wondered, I don't even know where she is, or how to reach her, and Helen's been charge of everything as usual.) Monique continued.

"I survived, though. I had to turn some tricks for a while. I got beat up several times, I got robbed, I got arrested, but I lucked out, too. I didn't catch anything really bad. I got jobs serving drinks in some low class bars, got some good tips, and I found out I wanted to play my own music. The bands thought it was cute, but some people took me seriously, as something besides a way to get into my, well, you know what I mean, man!"

Her voice choked up for the first time.

"I really love my music, you know, it keeps me going, heart and soul, heart and soul."

They sat quietly for a long time after that. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the dark clouds overhead slowly blocking out the stars above. A breeze picked up, blowing trash up against the fence separating them from the pit. It rustled in the trees scattered around them. The faint noise from Lawndale faded away. Monique took a long drag on her cigarette, exhaling it slowly, before she added, almost shyly.

"By the way, we meet once before."

Monique's sudden change of topic caught the older man off guard. Jake's mind fumbled for images of his daughters friends and classmates

"Uh, we have?"

She chuckled softly, her voice emotional for the first time that night.

"Used to hang with Trent Lane, Jane's big brother. Even meet your Daria once or twice, though she didn't really seem to like me. I later heard, but (not though Jane!), that she had the biggest crush on Trent. Trent was okay, but he was too much of a slacker, even for me. He stayed at your place once, and you answered the door, let me in."

"Monique, I really don't know what I can tell you, and I should!"

"Why? Listen, Jake, none of my life was your fault. You want to hear the reason I blurted out my whole life's story to you just now?"

She slid across the hood of the car, settling herself comfortably against the older man, and to his complete shock, planting a firm kiss right on his lips.

"You know why? It was because of last year, when I saw the fight at your Quinn's wedding to Tom Sloane on the news. You didn't just stand there and stutter, you defended your daughter, no questions asked. While your wife was saying no comment, you acted."

"Over reacted, everybody else said"

"So? At least you did something. Somebody just about called your little girl a whore to your face, and you defended her."

"I did, didn't I?"

"Freaking right you did!"

"It just felt like the right thing to do, but Helen said, uh . . . "

"Helen's your wife, right? The lawyer?"

"Yes, we meet in college, fell right in love, and."

"And she wears the pants in your family."

"Yes, yes she does."

"You love her, though, don't you?"

"Well, yes, of course, but she, she . . . Hey! Are you psychoanalyzing me!"

Monique doubled over in laughter, losing her balance, and sliding down to the gravel. Jake stared at her, then started to laugh himself, finally sitting down on the ground next to her. Finally, she stopped to breathe deeply, and giggled a bit.

"Nope, just tended bar enough to get someone to start talking. You listened to my story. Listen, Jake, we all need to talk things out sometimes. You and me, we're strangers. We might never see each other again. But tonight, we shared something special. I'm normally okay. I just picked this spot on this night because I knew on week nights it would be empty. I've got friends, and I've had lovers. It's just that meeting you here tonight, a guy who stuck up for his daughter, really touched me. I normally don't go around pouring out my heart to a total stranger."

"But, you've been hurt so bad!"

"But I'm still going, Jake, I'll get by, and so will you. You're a special guy, and I really wish I had met you before."

With a crackle of thunder, the clouds opened up overhead. Jake and Monique scrambled off the ground, diving into the car, breathing fast, still laughing. Monique shook her wet hair, and settled herself behind the steering wheel.

"Well, Jake, all good things must end, I guess. I'll drive you home."

The car responded with a faint click when she tried to start it. Frowning, she tried it again, and nothing happened at all. She sighed, and leaned back wearily.

"Sorry, Jake, old car, and old battery. Unless you have a cell phone with you?"

"Sorry, no, I left the house in a bit of a hurry."

Their clothing damp, they both shivered as the rain lashed the car. The car shook in the wind, and Monique's teeth started chattering. She looked at Jake with a sad smile on her face. He sighed, and held out his arm. She snuggled right up next to him, and she felt natural there. She sighed, and they both slowly relaxed, just enjoying the feel of each others body's in the cold car, as they fell into a deep sleep. Jake drifted into dreams of his hippie days, of snuggling with a very willing Helen, long nights alone, and when his hands wandered now, they were also met by welcoming flesh.


	3. Chapter 3

Helen typed furiously on her laptop computer, but her mind was only halfway on the complex case of copyright infringement. After the fiasco of the 1-800 call, the mood had definitely been broken. Terrific, just great! She and Jake hadn't been intimate in well over a year, since the near riot at Quinn's wedding, and Daria and Jane's hearings. What else was that girl going to take away from her!

Jake had been mostly sleeping in the guest bedroom anyway, lately. He had it set up with all of his own stuff. Helen had stayed out of it, except for a quick peek in the door every now and then. But she had felt extremely, well, "amorous", tonight. Jake had seemed to be receptive at first. They had even done some slow dancing, not talking about either one of the girls, Jake had suggested the "naughty" phone call, and POW!

After that other woman had taken over from Daria and hung up on her, she had managed to wake Jake up off the floor. Jake had shouted, "Augh!" and raced out the door into the guest bathroom, leaping into the shower with his pajamas on. After what Helen assumed was the coldest shower in history, he had disappeared into the guest bedroom again, not coming out until he was fully clothed. He had shamefacedly avoided her eyes, mumbled about getting some exercise, and bolted out the door.Helen typed furiously on her laptop computer, but her mind was only halfway on the complex case of copyright infringement. After the fiasco of the 1-800 call, the mood had definitely been broken. Terrific, just great! She and Jake hadn't been intimate in well over a year, since the near riot at Quinn's wedding, and Daria and Jane's hearings. What else was that girl going to take away from her!

Jake had been mostly sleeping in the guest bedroom anyway, lately. He had it set up with all of his own stuff. Helen had stayed out of it, except for a quick peek in the door every now and then. But she had felt extremely, well, "amorous", tonight. Jake had seemed to be receptive at first. They had even done some slow dancing, not talking about either one of the girls, Jake had suggested the "naughty" phone call, and POW!

After that other woman had taken over from Daria and hung up on her, she had managed to wake Jake up off the floor. Jake had shouted, "Augh!" and raced out the door into the guest bathroom, leaping into the shower with his pajamas on. After what Helen assumed was the coldest shower in history, he had disappeared into the guest bedroom again, not coming out until he was fully clothed. He had shamefacedly avoided her eyes, mumbled about getting some exercise, and bolted out the door.Helen's hands clenched tightly on either side of the small laptop. It's plastic case started to creak, and she forced herself to put it down on the bed. She stared at the phone at the side of the bed. Eric Schrecter, her boss at the law firm was always available for a quick, well, "liaison." But she didn't want him, she wanted Jake! She wanted the man she had married to be his quirky, amorous self, so shy and insecure, but a real romantic dynamo once he got started. Which he hadn't been since the day Helen privately named D-Day.

The phone. Helen stared at it. Jake had called a random number out of a guide for sparking up a couples romance. Could it have really been a coincidence? That they just happened to call the one Daria was really working at? She hadn't seen or talked to Daria or Jane. Both of them were in the Witness Protection Program. Jane had testified against Daria, blaming the whole thing on her. Even now, the whole thing had felt strange to Helen. Had another man come between the two, this mysterious "Dimitri?" Like they had nearly stopped being friends back in high school, over Tom?

The Russian Mafia. Helen had done some research on them, and hadn't liked anything she had found out. They were ruthless, intelligent, stopping at nothing. Nobody in their right mind wanted to cross them, even governments. The whole thing sounded like something Jane would get involved in, not her intelligent older daughter. A slow tear ran down Helen's face. Even now, she automatically defended Daria to herself.

Helen ran her fingers through her hair. What about Quinn? After what she had been through on her wedding day? Helen knew that she was on tranquilizers. Tom had worriedly confided that she had started to drink, sometimes heavily. Katherine Sloane had been a dear, helping to fit Quinn into their lives. But Tom's sister, Elsie, had turned into a real witch, doing her best to cut Quinn down at every turn.

And that Sandi Griffin! Helen wanted to strangle her! That girl had done her best to turn Quinn into the latest Internet sensation. Her carefully detailed books, filled with intimate things that the Fashion Club had once confided to each other in secret, had turned Quinn into the most chased woman alive, with paparazzi following her every move. Helen certainly hadn't known a lot of things that Quinn had done.

Then that boy from Highland showed up on the news, bragging that he was the man Quinn had been with at age fourteen. He had been quickly followed by others. Their claims had been followed by pictures, some poorly faked, others faked quite expertly. Those topless pictures had just been icing on the cake, a desperate attempt by her little girl to show Tom she was all for him. Even that had backfired.

Then something burned into her mind, the first thing Daria had said on the phone, before they had known it was her.

"Hi, I'm Quinn, and I'll be your mistress of the night. What's your name?"

The little monster had been using her sister name!

But then the next thing she had said followed.

"Daddy?"

"Mommy?"

Those words had been spoken in the most heartbroken voice Helen had ever heard. For one brief moment, Helen had wanted to rush to her daughter's side. Was Daria that good of an actress? Or was she genuinely missing her parents? What had gone on at that trial, those hearings behind closed doors? Angier Sloane had point blank refused to comment about anything to anybody.

Jake and Quinn had been in and out of therapy ever since, and Daria had been gone, hidden by the Federal government. And all Helen had was the work, and an increasingly tawdry affair with one of her bosses.

Helen looked at the phone again. A convenience, that's all she was, to the partners at the law firm. Eric got the sex, and the whole company got her intensive work, the care she put into each and every case. Damn! Helen stalked away from the bed to take her own cold shower.


	4. Chapter 4

Jane groaned as she staggered up the stairs from Angels and Helen's apartment. The petite Latina hadn't taken no for an answer from the woman she considered a big sister, and Jane had found herself at dinner with her coworker, his wife, and his mother-in-law. Still, it hadn't been too bad. The food, as always, was excellent, and Esmeralda Cortez had been too preoccupied with her daughters condition to do more then scowl in Jane's direction occasionally.

Jane had carefully sidestepped the loaded question the older woman had hurled her way. Angel and Helen both stuck up for her, assuring Mrs. Cortez (in Spanish, which she didn't know Jane understood,) that the gringa indeed dated, wasn't gay, didn't date too many men, was respectable, and wasn't chasing after Angel while Helen was in a "family way."

Mollified, the older woman relaxed, and the conversation turned to childhood stories of Angel and his brothers and sisters, much to the young father to be's chagrin. Mrs. Cortez took a strong liking to Jane, and invited her to the next family gathering! Jane gulped, especially after hearing that Angel had a very single brother, but gracefully accepted, praying she wouldn't have to go through with it.

She fumbled with the key in the dimly light hallway, automatically checking the door for any sign of forced entry, a ritual Agent Crawford had drilled into her. A quick look assured her that her small bare room was empty, and she carefully locked the sturdy door behind her. The air was hot and still, so she opened a window to let in the night breeze, careful not to show herself against any lights. The city sounds washed over her tired body along with the cool breeze. Her hair, now shoulder length, caressed the back of her neck. She idly played with it, feeling the curls flex in her fingers.

"I wonder how far they made Daria go," she mused. "Did Crawford pry those glasses off her face with a crowbar? Would I even recognize her anymore, if I didn't know it was her? She had loosened up a bit in college, but she was still the same serious, study-holic she was back in Lawndale High. She helped me with my classes, and we helped each other with friendships and guys. She dated a bit, though never very seriously, which was a shame, there were a couple of guys I thought perfect for her."

The twang of guitar strings echoed along the street, as a young man on a rooftop several building down intently practiced. Jane could barely make him out, but the guitar chords slowly coaxed slow tears down her face.

She remembered Trent.

Jane had wearily walked up the sidewalk to her family's two story house, with one bag in her hand, the other slung over her shoulder. The house was dark, but she heard the familiar sounds of a guitar coming out of the open basement windows.

_Great. Trent's home, but not anybody else. No Dad, no Mom, no Wind, or Summer, or Penny._

_I think Daria's folks lived in the courthouse. I certainly saw Quinn and Tom there, often enough. They always had a kind word for me too, at least until my testimony was leaked to the press_. _Or at least, a version of it_. _Trent showed up a few times, but all those police made him nervous. And Ms. Defoe. I guess I got shown who my friends were!_

She didn't hear any instruments besides the one guitar, and didn't see another other cars at the house, so Mystik Spiral wasn't practicing as a band tonight.

_Thank heaven for at least one favor. I love those guys, but their music can cause blindness and dementia. Jessie, Max and Nick visited a few times, but the police made them more nervous than they did Trent._

The familiar clutter of her home soothed Jane, and she gratefully dropped her bags on the floor, before trudging up the stairs to take a long, relaxing shower. She just soaked in the hot water pouring from the showerhead, feeling a lot of the tension and tiredness ease from her lean form.

After drying her black hair, she dressed in an oversized tee shirt and sweat pants. The tee shirt was one Penny had brought home from her travels to Central America, covered with a wild abstract design Jane had particularly liked.

Jane slowly descended the stairs, to a no doubt empty kitchen, with an equally empty refrigerator. Jane hesitated, her nose winkling in disbelief. The rich hot smell of pizza wafted up the stairs, and she ran down, to see Trent standing by the kitchen table, with two big pizza's steaming there, not only pizza's, but Pizza Kings Pizza Supremos, with every topping known to man on them.

"Trent! You actually remembered I got out today!"

Her brother blushed, coughing.

"Yeah, couldn't let you come home and then have to shop for food right out of jail, there's some food in the refrigerator too, and hey!"

Trent shouted as Jane had ignored the pizza, and locked her big brother in a fierce hug, her body trembling, resting her head on his shoulder. Trent gently returned her hug. Despite all his faults, Trent was the only relative Jane had ever really felt was family, and his uncharacteristic thoughtfulness filled an empty ache inside of her.

"Hey, little sister, I love you too, but the pizza's getting cold." Trent gently shook her loose, and steered her to the table. A pizza and a half later, along with six can's of Ultra Cola, and Jane finally stopped. Trent stared at her in amazement.

"Man, didn't those Fed's ever feed you?"

"Nothing like this, man, I missed it!"

Once the edge had been taken off her hunger, and Trent and Jane had returned to the living room, Jane stretched out on the old couch, and Trent slouched into an old armchair in the corner. Jane let out a deep, heartfelt sigh, followed closely by a very unladylike belch. She sat up and glared at Trent.

"Not a word, big brother!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Janey, but you always did eat too fast."

"Yeah, that and all that Ultra Cola. Trent, where is everybody?"

Trent shrugged helplessly.

"I tried, Janey, I really did! But Dad's taking pictures in Vietnam, Summer in Juvenile court in Gallup, NM, trying to keep custody of her kids. The state down there has charged her with being an unfit parent, because the kids are always on the road. The state police picked them up hitchhiking! Wind has been arrested for bigamy, and non payment of child support, so he's locked up until his trial. Penny's in jail in the Honduras. Customs found some crack inside of some of her pottery, and they won't let her go."

"Don't tell me Mom's in prison, too! Why isn't Dad helping with Penny or Wind?"

Trent got up and started pacing nervously

"Nobody knows where mom is! None of the family have heard from her in weeks! And dad's out in the jungle, and not expected to be heard from for another month!".

Jane ran her fingers through her hair, even as she felt more like pulling it out.

"Just perfect, she pulls this every four or five years, and worries you and me sick. Do at least Penny, Wind and Summer know what I've been going through?"

"Well, yeah, I told them when they called me looking for bail money. Penny said to be proud, and that you were standing up for workers rights, everywhere. Oh, she also said to remember Julius and Ethel Rosenberg."

Jane stared at him.

"Who?"

Trent shrugged.

"I called Mr. DeMartino and asked, and he said,"WELL, Mr..Lane, if you had BOTHERED to have ever done your HOMEWORK, you would know that the ROSENBERGS were a married couple from the Nineteen FIFTIES, who were convicted of SPYING for the Communist Party, and sending the SECRETS of the nuclear BOMB, to the Soviet UNION!"

Jane stared at the ceiling, the veins popping out in her forehead. Come to think of it, she thought, why not? My eyes should start popping out of my head like DeMartino's any day now!

"Wow, Trent, that was perfect."

Trent shook his head.

"It's hard to forget the way he talks."

"So that's why the American Legion were picketing me at the bus stop, with signs saying "Better Dead Then Red?" No wait, those people were from the John Birch Society. The American Legion had signs calling me "Putin's Patsy", and those were the nice ones! Though there was that nice old man who told me he had been a communist in the US Army in World War Two, and that the workers were going to win sometime soon ."

"Wow, Janey, you sound like a convention of both Mom and Dad's friends, not to mention people from the conservative Lanes."

"Yes, that's me, Jane "United Nations' Lane!"

Trent scowled in confusion.

"The UN is after you, too?"

"One thing at a time, Trent please?"

After a long silence, when Jane was sure Trent had fallen asleep, and she almost had, Trent sighed and asked the question she had been dreading.

"Hey, you square things with Daria?"

Even across the dimly lit room, Trent could see his sister tense.

"What's to square? There wouldn't have been a problem if she had just minded her own business for once. This is just like that whole thing with Tom!"

"Janey, you can't really believe that! She was worried about you! You saw the money that Dimitri was raking in with those fake online bets! Nobody is that lucky! She knew something was wrong, and you didn't listen to her!"

"Listen to her? That's all I've done ever since I've met her! So what if I ran into a really hot guy who's an artist, and I can't spend all my free time with her? People change, and grow up! I love Dimitri, Trent, and she didn't like it!"

Trent held onto his own temper with difficulty.

"Jane, the man is an enforcer for the Russian Mob! He kills people when his bosses tell him to! Daria found out, and was terrified that you would get killed in a shoot out or mob hit! "

"Dimitri wouldn't have let that happen! He's one of the best ... "

Trent stared at her, horrified.

"Don't tell me you knew what he is, and stayed with him, anyway? I thought Wind had the worse taste in partners!"

"Dimitri loves me! He was going to leave the Mob, take us away to someplace safe, where we could live with each other!"

"Listen to me! You're still hung up bad on this guy! He left you and Daria holding the bag, he framed Daria for the money transfers through Tom's dads company!"

Jane leaped to her feet, stomping over to Trent, and glaring down at him in the armchair.

"I'm not the only one who screwed up here, big brother! I had to cover you, too!"

Trent wilted back into the chair under his sisters scorn.

"What were you thinking, hauling that stuff in your car? How could you be so stupid!"

"Janey, I'm sorry! I really needed the cash, and this looked like a cheap way to pay it back. I thought it was only some grass, and no big deal."

"No big deal? Enough coke to light up the entire city of Lawndale! I had to do a lot of crawling, Trent! I had to make all kinds of deals with the Feds! Not the Boston or Lawndale cops, the FBI! You want to know who else was there? People from the CIA! Nobody ever told me why!"

Jane leaned over her brother, screaming into his face.

"The betting was all done through Daria's computer! Using Daria's password! To bank account's that all turned out to have Daria's name! I honestly thought that Dimitri just had a real good system, that Daria either stole or charmed out of him, and was using to make a bit of money for herself!"

Jane stumbled up the stairs. Trent sighed, looking sadly after her, then thought about how the whole thing might make a decent song. He went down the stairs, after putting away the remains of the pizzas, and resumed his attempt ro match chords with lyrics.

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Outside in the unmarked, dull gray van, Crawford winced at Trent's guitar playing. James Marsden, her senior partner, listened for a minute before turning down the volume on the shotgun mike..

"That young man needs music school, bad."

He was a big man, grey haired, nearing retirement age. He sighed, reaching automatically for the cigarettes his wife and doctors had forbidden, and finding only the pack of gum it had been replaced with. Tearing open the package with a studied false anger, he popped the piece into his mouth. Ellen Crawford kept her face blank.

"Well, that was a nice wrap up of the whole situation, wasn't it, Crawford?"

"Yes, sir."

"Crawford, we aren't in the Army, and we're not in the office. When we are, then you have to say "Senior Agent" and "Director." Out here in the field, when we're around other people, we call each other by our last names."

"Yes, sir, er, I mean, Agent Marsden."

"That's better. What did you think of Miss Lane's declaration of undying love?"

"She sounds very naive, sir. Uh, Agent Marsden."

"Love makes fools of us all, Crawford. You might even fall for a real jerk, someday. We all say we'll know better, then bam! You are hooked."

"Sir, I thought the Morgendorffer girl was only indirectly involved?"

"That's one of the problems with this case. Not to mention our friends from Central Intelligence hanging around, breathing over our shoulders. I know there's some concern about our new best friends from Moscow being all nice with one face, and playing Cold War games behind our backs, but this has got me stumped."

"So, are we here to protect Lane, or gain new evidence?"

"Both, actually, Crawford. All the attention is on Morgendorffer, as she's the smarter one of these two, but Miss Lane is still involved in this up to those pretty blue eyes of hers."

He stiffened, staring out the window at the Lane house.

"Wait, I thought I just saw somebody go over that wood fence behind their house."

Crawford peered intently though the pair of night vision goggles.

"There's two of them! I think, yes, one of them has a rifle or shotgun!"

She reached for the mike on the radio link.

"I'll call for back up, and ..."

Marsden shouted, "Crawford, down," just before the two men with shotguns opened fire on the front and back of their van. Marsden leaned across the seat, shielding his partner as he pulled his own pistol out. Multiple blasts sounded all around them, and Marsden grunted as the heavy buckshot tore into his bullet proof vest, and his unprotected arms and face. Crawford fell prone to the floor, and the pellets shredded the sides of the van above her. Marsden hung motionless, caught between the two front seats, blocking her view to the front. Crawford stared at him, as he bleed heavily onto the floor. A rumble of voices sounded outside. Then she heard the back door of the van being pried open.

She knelt, aiming her 9 mm at the crack of the opening doors.

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._Damn it, Trent was only saying the same thing everybody else has been telling me. It's not his fault our family is so self centered. I'll go apologize, and take him what's left of the pizza .I can't get any sleep, anyway._

As Jane stepped softly into the kitchen in her bare feetshe heard the loud creak of wood signaling somebody had slipped over the rickety wooden fence behind their house. Were some friends of her folks from their commune days camping in the woods behind the house again?

Jane opened her mouth to yell down to Trent, when the back door of the house suddenly bulged, then shattered loudly. She screamed as the two men rushed inside the kitchen. The first man dropped a sledgehammer on the floor, pulling a big black pistol out of his belt. The second man pointed his sawed off shotgun directly at Jane. Jane stared at the two, backing away in shock, the muzzles of their guns impossibly large.

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Trent stared in frustration at the floor beams over him, unable to make his song work out, but smiled as he heard light footsteps sound in the kitchen above him.

_Good, Janey's still awake, I'd better go apologize to her. She really needs to talk to Daria, and get everything fixed. This is a lot worse then that thing over Tom. What the?_

The sounds of breaking wood and heavy footsteps sounded, followed by a piercing scream He grabbed his guitar by its neck, and ran up the stairs.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_No, No, this isn't happening! Dimitri, where are you! Oh my god, Trent! Stay down in the basement until the cops get here!_ Jane screamed again as Trent, swinging his old guitar like a club lunged out of the stairwell to the basement, catching the man with the pistol on the side of the head. He went down like a rock, but Trent was left standing there helplessly staring at the man with the shotgun, who smoothly raised it and fired.

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As the two doors swung apart, revealing one man holding a shotgun, the other a crowbar.

Crawford's first shot caught the gunman in his upper chest, and he grunted, falling backward. The man with the crowbar stabbed at the FBI agent with it, and her next two shots caught him directly in the face, the spray of blood and brains blinding her. She desperately wiped the mess out of her face, only to see the two men lying motionless on the ground behind the van. A shotgun blast sounded inside of the house.

Flipping open her cell phone, she speed dialed 911 and shouted into it at the sleepy dispatcher as she ran up the sidewalk.

"Code 99! Code 99! Officer down! Officer down at 111 Howard Drive! FBI Agent Crawford requesting backup and ambulance at 111 Howard Drive!" She held her pistol in a two-handed grip as she ran up to the front door and kicked it hard, right by the doorknob. She ignored the aching and burning in her muscles, hearing a struggle inside in the room. She aimed carefully, and placed the rest of her clip into the doorlock, then popped the clip and slipped a spare one into the pistol.

Inside, Jane had stared at Trent's fallen form, at the wreckage of his face. At the young man who had been her only real family figure her entire life, who had always been home, walked her to school when she needed it. A boiling fury rose up in the back of her soul, all the frustration and anger of the arrest and trial, her families don't give a damn attitude about anybody but themselves, and she snapped, charging at an armed man twice her size, screaming like the lost soul she had just become. He gaped at her, pulling his gun back around half raised, as she plowed into him.

Jane had learned some grim lessons in the places she had hung out at, and instead of flying at him, with slaps and nails, stabbed one hand into his throat, hard. He gagged, and she followed that up grabbing at his eyes. He brought the shotgun up reflexively, and her right knee connected savagely with his crotch. He howled, and slammed his gun forward, catching Jane across the chest, and knocking her to the floor, his weight pinning her struggling body to the ground. Sadistically, he pressed Jane down hard, slamming his shotgun down across Jane's chest again and again.

"How do you like it, you little tramp! They want you alive, but I'm going to fix you so that nobody will want your scrawny carcass again!" As he raised up his gun butt to slam it into Jane's face, a series of shots rang out. He stared in disbelief at the holes stitching his broad chest, then slumped forward, falling across Jane's body. Jane screamed in hysteria, and fought free, grabbing the shotgun, before the injured, bleeding Crawford could reach her, and aimed it her. Crawford froze, her own gun raised.

"It's over, Jane, it's over, please put the gun down."

"No way, you bitch! Trent's dead! My brothers dead!"

The sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Jane, I called for backup. When they get here, they're going to see you holding a gun. With all the bodies here, they're probably going to shoot first, and ask questions later. Please put the gun down. I'm going to put mine down on the floor right here."

"Why should I believe you! Where were you when they killed Trent!"

"I was outside. Two other men killed my partner, and wounded me, while these two attacked you and your brother."

Jane stared at the agent, noticing for the first time that she was covered with blood, her clothing torn, her face a fright mask of blood and flesh. The stench of blood and gunpowder abruptly made its way to her noise, as well as the outhouse smells of ripped open human bodies. Jane sank to her knees, carefully placed the shotgun on the floor, and crawled over to the kneeling Agent Crawford, and started to tremble, her breath coming in short gasps. Crawford wrapped her arms around the young woman, who was only a little younger than herself, and held her tightly. Jane's tearless eyes stared into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Nine**

Quinn awoke late as usual, alone in her big bed. The sheets next to her were still warm where Tom had slept next to her. Her head pounded, the light leaking in around the thick black velvet curtains hurt her eyes, her mouth tasted awful, and her stomach heaved and churned. She carefully crawled out of the bed and staggered into the huge marble bathroom. She barely made to the toilet before her stomach contents broke loose. Her whole world became the white porcelain bowl in front of her. After flushing it, she dropped the lid and collapsed on it, the ceiling fan slowly clearing out the sour sickly smell. Her head still hurt, but she knew better than to take aspirin on an empty stomach.

Brushing her teeth cleared her up even more, and she took a shower next. She stood under the pulsing jet of water, letting it run over her aching body, letting her sore muscles relax, though her queasy stomach caused her more pain. She slowly lowered the water temperature, until she stood in the cold jet, her skin dimpling with goose bumps. She hurriedly turned it off then, and grabbed one of the thick fluffy towels, losing herself in their softness, feeling at that moment like the princess she had once dreamed of being.

Wrapping one towel around her, and another around her still damp hair, she reluctantly stared at herself in the huge bathroom mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face red and blemished. There was a large bruise on her pale cheek, and she gently touched it. A dim memory of staggering outside in the hall, a bottle in one hand, while a distraught Tom gently supported her, while she sobbed between gulping fine liquor like it was diet Ultra Cola. Tom had begged and pleaded with her, but couldn't deny her anything she wanted.

Even if she was destroying herself with it

Katherine and Angier Sloane knew what was going on of course, but were reluctant to interfere in Tom's marriage. Katherine had gently suggested that Quinn might need therapy, even a stay at the Betty Ford clinic. Elsie, on the other hand, had been first cold but polite to Quinn, and later, when Sandi's book hit the shelves, had been outright hostile to her.

Sandi. Oh that Sandi!

One single slumber party, where the girls were home alone at the Morgendorffer house. It had been Sandi who had noticed that the liquor cabinet didn't have a lock on it. It had never needed one. Jake drank an occasional martini, Helen would have a relaxing glass of red wine with her dinner, but neither of the girls had ever been interested. Quinn had drunk some beer back in Highland, though, and had a cocktail a few times with various of her dates, but had always been careful not to go too far.

Daria had known, though. It was Daria who had kept her secret all those years, even with all the sisterly feuding that had filled their teenaged years. Mom had known, too. It had been Daria's idea that they had to tell Mom. She had been very careful not to have told Dad about it.

The party had been right after Daria's stint as a substitute teacher, when Quinn had revealed, not to anybodies real surprise that Daria was her real sister. Sandi had been very subdued after that, and Quinn, taking natural advantage of her rival and best friend in the game of high school one-ups-man-ship, had declared that their next slumber party would be at her house. Besides, that way she wouldn't have to worry about Sandi's creepy little brothers trying to spy on them all the time.

"Quinn, do you think your folks would mind much if I had a drink?"

"A drink? Sandi, are you serious?"

"Sure I am! My folks have drinks all the time to calm their nerves, and I know yours do, too. Besides, don't tell me that your dates have never tried to get you drunk."

To their mutual amazement, it was Tiffany who spoke up.

"Eww, drinking. Sandi, that's gross. You get all sick, and it makes your head hurt the next day."

Stacy said in shock, "Tiffany, you've gotten drunk?"

Tiffany blushed, and wrapped her arms around her legs. She bowed her head, hiding her face in her long, dark, hair.

"Ye-es, once, it wasn't nice, and I didn't like it, but I didn't kn-ow what it was."

The other girls moved closer. Tiffany seldom ever really talked to them about what happened to her away from them. Surprisingly, it was Sandi who put her arm around her and said, "Tiffany, why don't you tell us what happened?"

"It was a date in our soph-more ye-ar. There was a boy who acted really nice, and he asked me out."

Tiffany shivered violently then. Stacy put her hands to her mouth and said, "Ohmigod! Tiffany, what happened to you?"

Tiffany reluctantly raised her head and looked down at the carpet, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"We we-nt to the movies, and it was really nice. He left to get us something to eat, and he bought me some popcorn, and a real big soda. But the popcorn was really salty, and I drank a lot of the soda. It tasted like, real funny, but he said that it was a special flavor."

Quinn stared at her friend, wide eyed. This story was getting way too familiar to her. Tiffany sniffed, and gaining strength, moved on.

"I felt real dizzy, and I started to laugh at things that weren't even funny. When we left the movie, he had to help me to the car. He drove me over to the quarry. I said, "Roger, you're really nice, but I don't really feel like doing anything right now." He said,"Shush, baby, you're going to like this a lot.' Then he unbuckled his seat belt and mine, and slid over next to me."

Stacy was hyperventilating, Sandi seemed to be in shock. Quinn was terrified of what Tiffany would say next, but she had to ask.

"What happened then?"

Tiffany hid her face again.

"I, I threw up on him!"

Hearing no answer, Tiffany peeked out at her friends. All three were staring at her with wide eyes and gaping mouths. Stacy had shoved a big wad of her nightgown in her mouth, and Sandi and Quinn had tightly hugged each other in anticipation of Tiffany's next words.

"You what!"

"That strange soda made me sick, all right? I said I was really dizzy too."

Quinn and Stacy were both in shock. Sandi whispered, "Did he hurt you?"

"No, he screamed really loud, and jumped up out of the car. Then he saw what the front seat looked liked."

Tiffany winkled her noise.

"Eww, it was really gross. He got mad, but some other people were parking there too, and they came over to see what all the fuss was about. It was his dad's brand new car, too. Some of the girls there wanted to know what I had been drinking, and when I told them, they got sort of mad at him. Brittany almost punched him!" Tiffany seemed very impressed by that.

"Brittany Taylor? The cheerleader?"

"Yes, Sandi. But she was in Junior Varsity cheerleading back then. Brittany said that he must not be much of a man if he had to spike his dates drinks, and that if she ever thought he did it again, the entire high school football team would beat him up! Then she made Kevin drive me home. She stopped at a store, and got me some medicine for my stomach, too. She's really a nice girl. When ever I wasn't with any of the rest of you, she'd come up and ask me if I was okay.""

"Tiffany, why didn't you ever tell us about any of this?"

"Well, Roger never bothered me after that. His family moved again that summer, anyway, so he wasn't there anymore. Has any of your dates ever tried to do that to you?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. Sandi and Stacy were both staring at each other and Quinn, and Quinn was curled up on the carpet, crying. It was Tiffany who crawled over to her and hugged her, stroking her long reddish blonde hair like she was a child. Stacy got a blanket and pillow from the bed and cuddled up with them on the floor. Sandi just knelt there, looking last and lonely. She was still close enough to hear Stacy whisper,

"Quinn, what happened?"

It was Stacy's open hearted sympathy, and Tiffany's story of her close call, that made Quinn open up, to finally reveal her secret. The three of them huddled under the blanket suddenly reminded Quinn of long car trips, where she and Daria would fall asleep against each other in the back seat of the car. Sure, they always made a big fuss about it when they woke up, with mutual claims of drooling and bad breath, but still, it had been so comfortable, hearing Daria's rapid breathing, her warmth against her. It had almost been as good as falling asleep in Mom or Dad's lap when she had just been a baby.

"I had a boyfriend in Highland. His name was Dennis, and I thought he was so handsome. Mom thought he was just a buddy of mine, but we had gotten pretty close. He was really upset when he found out we were moving from Highland. We had some real bad arguments. Some friends I knew had a going away party for me, the last summer we were at Highland, back in Texas.. The girl who threw the parties mom was there for a while, but she had to go to work. We were all singing, and people were dancing, and I liked to dance, so I got really hot and thirsty after a while."

Quinn shivered and huddled closer to her two friends. Sandi sat apart from them, almost lost in the darkness, but the other three didn't notice. Quinn sighed.

"Then somebody said we were out of pop, but there was still some beer in the frig. We all looked at each other, but then somebody started to drink it, and then we all did. We all got like, you know, wasted pretty fast, then, and I asked Dennis to walk me home."

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"Quinn, you love me, don't you?"

"Of course I do, Dennis! I don't want to leave you, either! But I'm only fourteen, and you're only sixteen! There isn't anything that either of us can do!"

"Yes there is! We could, you know do it! Go all the way!"

"Are you crazy! I'm only fourteen!"

"So? Lots of girls do it at that age! Are you saying they're more grown up than you are?"

Quinn's drunken mind grappled with the argument. Yes, she loved Dennis, and sure, she knew some girls who had "done it" at her age.

"Dennis, I love you, I really do! But I don't think I'm ready for doing this!"

"Quinn, you're leaving town in three months! If not now, when? You say you love me, but you won't let me love you! You would if you really loved me!"

He let go of her and turned away. Quinn wailed and ran after him.

"I do love you, Dennis, I really do!"

"Then prove it, Quinn! If you really mean it, prove it! Let's do it, right now!"

"I want to, I really do! But what if I have a baby!"

"You won't! I borrowed some rubbers from my brother's room!"

"Where, where are we going to do it? Not out here in the grass! Eww!"

"My dad's got an old car parked in the barn."

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Even huddled together under the thick blanket, Stacy and Tiffany could feel the tenseness in Quinn, but they couldn't see her biting her lip till it bled.

"It wasn't anything like I thought it would be It was dirty and cramped and sweaty. It hurt so bad when he, he did it. I cried then, but he just kept on going, and then he fell asleep! I was cold and cramped, and I couldn't wake him up. So I crawled out of the car. I, I was bleeding, you know, down there, but just a little bit. I crawled into my room though the window. I cleaned up in the bathroom, I was so dirty, I felt so dirty, I was all covered with, with his, well, you know!"

"When I went back to my room, Daria was just standing there, staring at me. She wasn't wearing her glasses, and she just smirked. I guess she thought she would just get me in trouble for getting home so late, but when I got closer to her, and she saw me better, she just gasped. She touched me with the tip of her fingers, like she thought I would fall apart."

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"Quinn, what happened?"

"Shh! Daria, be quiet! Mom will get mad!"

"Quinn, you look like you've been crawling around in a barn! What happened to you?"

"Daria! I can't tell you! Mom will kill me!"

"You look like somebody already tried to do that! Did you have a fight? You're bruised all over!"

'I just had an accident at the party, that's all."

The door to the parents bedroom had opened then, and Helen shuffled out, rubbing her eyes. Jake was away on a business trip.

"What are you two doing up already?"

She saw Quinn carrying her clothes, and jumped to the right conclusion.

"Did you just get home from that party you went to? Young lady, you are so grounded!"

Quinn dropped her clothes to the floor and crumbled against Daria. Daria grabbed at her before they both fell to the ground.

"Quinn? Honey, what's wrong!" Helen rushed over to their side, then took Quinn off her smaller, older sister.

"Mom, I think Quinn got hurt at the party last night, but she wouldn't tell me, and, Mom! Look!"

Helens gaze followed Daria's pointing finger, and she saw it, halfway down Quinn's night shirt

was a rapidly spreading blood stain.

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"Blood! Quinn, what was it!"

"He had tore me open when, he, he did that to me. I bled so bad that I passed out. Mom took me to the hospital. She thought I'd been raped. I finally told her that Dennis and I had done it, and Mom was furious. She wanted to file charges, of that rape thing, what is it, statue something? But I kept saying that we really loved each other, and I wouldn't help."

"We-re you hurt rea-lly bad?"

"I. I wasn't pregnant, or going to have a disease. But then Dennis's folks said I had seduced him, and that I was a little tramp! His dad was the county judge. Mom was so mad, but he had too many friends in high places. I was so glad we were leaving Highland after that. I had friends there, but after that, I felt cheap, like one of those women at a truck stop."

Quinn's redheaded temper, come forward blazing.

"And there were stories all over town that it was my fault, that I got drunk, and invited everyone at the party to an, an orgy!"

"What's that, Quinn?"

Before Quinn could answer Tiffany's question, Sandi's voice came out of the darkness, startling them all. Her deep voice sounded even stranger than normal.

"It's a party where a bunch of people get together and have sex with each other, Tiffany, dear."

"Sandi, eww!"

"I'm sorry, Quinn, I really am. I'm just not as able to show it as some people."

"Sandi, what's wrong?"

"Nothings wrong, Quinn, nothings wrong at all. I just said I'm very sorry for you. And for you, Tiffany. Some people aren't so lucky, that's all. They don't have unexpected help, or get away with thing's that other people have to live with the rest of their lives."

"Sandi, what are you talking about? Did something happen to you, too?"

"Unlike you, Quinn, I don't seem to have any really close friends to share secrets with. I'm going home now. I'll see you all in school, Monday, and we'll never talk about any of this again. Stacy, I suggest that if you have a sad story to tell, now would be the time to do it, once I'm gone."

Sandi had dressed in a hurry, and walked down the stairs and out of the house.

"Stacy, what was that all about?"

"I don't know, Quinn. I guess something about your and Tiffany's stories really upset her."

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_That's what hurt so bad at my wedding, when I heard about Sandi's book. I should have seen it. Stacy, Tiffany, and I were all closer together than ever. But it drove Sandi away from us, she was still there, but we weren't really together any more. She used that story to write her book! She used a secret that neither Stacy, or even forgetful Tiffany have ever breathed a word of! And those pictures! Sandi said somebody mailed them to her, she didn't know who. She didn't use them in her book, but she still had copies, and wrote the worst possible story using them! The police took them away, but Sandi probably has copies stashed somewhere!_

_Why does she hate me that much? We always schemed against each other, but I never thought she would sink so low. And then those topless pictures at that private beach. Tom had been so charming and thoughtful, and he was so incredibly sexy, and I just wanted to be bold and outrageous, just for him._

_We haven't been intimate since our honeymoon. Sandi's book, those topless pictures, all the stories from guys in Lawndale detailing tings they say I did with them! Tom and I sleep together, but every time he touches my bare skin I freeze up. And I know that it's Elsie who always leaves those gossip magazines all over the house with my picture on the cover. I'm as famous as Paris Hilton or Pamela Anderson! Is she and Sandi working together? Not that they need to! I 'm destroying myself just fine! But I can't sleep, and I keep worrying, and I never see Mom and Dad anymore, and I can't make any friends_.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Elsie Sloane sauntered into the library, where her brother Tom sat reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal. He looked up at her, warily.

"Quinn is still asleep, so if you have any comments concerning her, please keep them to yourself."

"Me, why would I say anything about the toast of Lawndale?"

"Elsie, I've had a really hard night!"

"You've been having a lot of those, lately, brother dearest. Why don't we just forget all this unpleasantness, and try to make a fresh start?"

"Then either leave Quinn alone, or stop picking at her!"

"Well, brother, if that will make you happy, I'll be glad to do it!"

Behind Tom, a large mirror on the wall showed the hall door open slightly, with a blue eye peeking into the room, and a lock of strawberry blonde hair. Pure evil suddenly blossomed in Elsie's mind. She leaned over her brother, her hands planted firmly on the arms of the chair, looking right into Tom's face. Tom, startled, leaned back.

"Elsie, what!"

"Elsie, what? Is that all you can say? Have you forgotten all those lonely nights, when we two were home all alone?"

Elsie's head darted forward, and locked on her stunned brothers lips. She heard a faint gasp behind her, like the squeak of a kitten, followed by the sound of bare feet running down the hall.

Elsie pulled back, standing over the still stunned Tom, who hadn't seen Quinn..

"Just a little joke, Tom, just a little joke. You can still take a joke, can't you? Say good morning to Quinn for me."

Tom looked at his departing sister's back in confusion, then shrugged, and returned to his paper.


	6. Chapter 6

Helen tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her desk top. A folder lay open in front of her, and its contents laid out in careful order. Photographs, expense reports, vouchers, that all added up to what? A divorce? Or paranoia? Finally, in a tired voice quite unlike her usual forceful tones, she said, "And you're sure?"

Bob Jones, the burly ex-cop turned private investigator, on a retainer to Vitale, Davis, Horowitz, Riordan, Schrecter & Schrecter, nodded.

"Your husband did buy Monique Van Der Wals a car battery, the day after he was out all night during that thunderstorm. But, they've had no contact with each other, since. She's the lead vocalist of a small band called the Harpies, which plays in local night spots like the Zon, and McGrundys Brew Pub. They play rather edgy, alternative music, and have a small local following. She's unmarried, has no current boy friend, and is rumored to be bisexual. He was also the ex girl friend of Trent Lane, the older brother of your daughters co-defendant, Jane Lane."

"My husband's new routine of self improvement?"

"Innocent, at least as far as I could tell. He jogs every morning, as you know, and works out in a downtown gym three days a week. Other than small talk with the other customers and trainers, he seems to have no contact with anybody, either male or female."

Helen's face burned red hot. Jake with a male lover? She hadn't even considered that possibility!

Shuffling the papers on her desk to hide her discomfort, she continued.

"You're sure about the psychiatrist's visits?"

"Yes. I don't know for sure why, but he does have weekly sessions. He got really worked up in the one I was able to overhear, pacing back and forth, yelling something about a dog."

"Mad Dog?"

"Yes, that was it."

"So, other than the first night, you're sure he has had any, ah, intimate contact with anybody, especially this Monique?"

"Right. She lives in Lawndale, so it would have been fairly easy. But he hasn't called her from either your home phone or his cell. I've tailed him, and he's just been doing the things he's told you about."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Jones. I appreciate both your work, and your discretion."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Morgendorffer."

After the detective's departure, Helen stood up, and stared out her office window. Traffic rushed by on the busy street, people strolled along the sidewalk, but she saw none of the activity. Was Jake having an affair? He had acted so strange, after spending that night away from home during the storm. His mood had been slightly embarrassed, but with a new core of confidence. Was he getting ready to divorce her? Was that why he was working out, getting the psychiatric help? A younger woman!

Helen's own liaison's with Eric Schrecter, one of the law firms partners, came guiltily to her mind. Did Jake know? Had Jake hired a detective to follow her? Did he have a folder of pictures, of her sneaking into area motels? She could imagine the looks of contempt from associates in the legal field, not because she had cheated, but because she had been caught at it. Linda Griffin in particular would shout it from the rooftops. Like mother, like daughters! Sandi had turned Quinn's life into a night mare of being stalked by reporters, of going in and out of clinics for her addictions.

Linda's own husband Tom was such a wimp he made the old Jake look macho. He wouldn't dare have cheated on his overbearing wife. Helen idly wondered for a moment as to what their sex life was like, and recoiled with a shudder. There were some things she didn't want to know. A stray thought came to mind, of both Linda and Sandi locked in a basement, gagged, and she allowed herself a small smirk, then sighed, returning to her reality.

From being the star of the Barksdale sisters, with the only stable marriage, a respectable job, and two beautiful, smart daughters, she was now at the bottom. Her older sister, Rita, her mother's favorite, had gloated about it whenever they talked, disguised under what Helen knew was a false concern, Not that she should talk! Helen had lost track of the number of marriages and/or boyfriends Rita had gone through. Rita's own daughter, Erin, was currently divorced, with a case of genital herpes the only thing she got out of her broke, worthless ex-husband.

Little sister Amy, on the other hand, merely hinted at her fabulous lifestyle, without ever giving any real details as to what she actually did for a living. Helen actually gave a moment serious thought as to setting Jones on Amy, just to find out, before she dismissed the thought. She had much better things to spend her time and money on!

Jones's mention of Trent had given Helen a case of the chills. She well remembered the sleepy, amiable young man with the goatee, and the tattoos. She had always suspected that Daria might have had a crush on him, and had sighed in relief when Daria had grown out of it. Trent had been nice, but Helen could see that he would have never amounted to anything, in spite of his trace of musical talent. Still, she had been horrified at the news he had been killed during a botched kidnaping of his sister, Jane.

When she had found out that Trent was going to receive an indigents funeral, in the cities Potters Field, she had stepped in, paying for a modest funeral, and a small funeral service. Trent's band mates and a few other people were the only ones there, besides herself and Jake. Monique had been there as well, and had thanked them for the funeral. Jane hadn't been allowed to attend, but two uniformed Lawndale Police officers had.

Nobody had been able to contact any other members of the Lane family in time for the services. His mother, Amanda, had drifted into town several months later, and given Helen a vague thanks, as well as a blurry statement that Trent was a soul in transition, that there wasn't any need to mourn his temporary passing, as he would soon emerge, like a butterfly. Helen had seen that there was no point to getting angry, as Amanda would merely retreat back to her New Age philosophy.

"What is that woman on? Was I that bad during college?"

Still, alone as she was every night in her big bed, Helen would have her nightmares. She had managed to obtain a copy of the report dealing with the shooting in the Lane home, and had paid for it ever since. Faceless gunmen, casually walking into her home or office, and leisurely shooting down Daria or Quinn. Or of Jane's body being the one in the crime scene photo's. Even after Jane's betrayal of Daria in court, Helen couldn't stop caring for her as much as she did for her own daughter's. Jane had been such an important part of Daria's life during high school. It hadn't always been a good part, but Helen had admitted to herself that Jane was as responsible for Daria's development as her own family.

Daria! Her intelligent, willful, maddening oldest daughter. She had all her mothers own drive, with a bit of her father's waywardness buried deep inside. She had carved her way through the academic minefields in college, achieving awesome grades, but still restrained socially. She and Jane had still maintained their old friendship, but the old ties had loosened. Still, Jane still enjoyed trying to pry her friend out of her shell, and Daria was still the one Jane would go to when she had exciting news.

Like Dimitri. The enigmatic Russian, blue eyed, blonde haired, handsome, charming, witty. He had driven a wedge between the girls from the first. Helen still remembered Daria story of the first time Jane had told her about him.

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"Dimitri, eh, blonde hair, blue eyes, built like Apollo? You're getting really lyrical, Lane. And he sketches, too?"

"Scoff all you want, Morgendorffer, but Dimitri is exquisite!"

"You said the same thing about that engineering student two weeks ago."

"Oh, sure, Jerry is nice, but Dimitri is so brooding, and handsome, he is the ultimate!"

"Wow, Tiger! You almost sound like Quinn!"

Daria didn't quite duck the well aimed pillow that soared her way.

"Oof! I surrender. What's you flames last name, or did you manage to forget it?"

The look in Jane's eyes became really wicked, as she grinned, rubbing her hands together in mock villain fashion.

"Dimitri did say that a person as smart as I said you were had probably heard of his family name, or at least his uncle, Yuri."

Daria sighed, glared at Jane in feigned disdain.

"Yuri is hardly a rare Russian first name, so what's the love of your life's last name, then?"

Jane wrapped her arms around her legs and rocked back on the couch, obviously enjoying herself.

"Gagarin."

Daria rolled her eyes.

"Wow, big deal, so Dimitri's uncle is a Yuri Gagarin, so, ah, eep!"

Jane howled with laughter on the couch as Daria turned several shades of red, finally coming to her aid with a glass of water, which Daria had spilled all over herself as much as she had swallowed. She glared at the still smirking Jane.

"Yuri Gagarin? The first man in space, ever?"

"That's the one, amiga, and before you say anything about how much of a sucker I am, let me tell you that he showed me an old family scrapbook, filled with really old personal pictures. I mean, after all, what do I know from outer space? But, he's taken me to the Smithsonian, Daria! I've seen so many things!"

"Well, I'm glad you have! Now, I'm going to change my clothes, and brush my hair, again! What does the love of your life do for a living, anyway?"

"Besides art, he studies computer technology."

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Helen sighed, remembered Daria's pleased smirk as she had told the story at a family dinner, one of the few they had had. Jake had been as confused as poor Quinn! It had been such a rare treat, Daria opening up, and sharing a part of her life with them, but then, Daria had always been bad that way, so very private. Helen gritted her teeth, remembering the last time they had really talked to each other.

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Helen had been the only family member in the courtroom as the judge had read the verdict. Her sentence had been suspended, but she was put into the Witness Protection Program. Helen knew what that probably meant. A series of low paying, dead end jobs, with Daria unable to use any of intelligence and skills to make the mark in society she was born to make. Her frustration warred with her mother's instincts. Both Jake and Quinn were taking therapy, boosted by tranquilizers. Jake's state of mind hadn't been helped by Sandi's tell all book about Quinn's early sexual experiences, or some of the things their daughter had done in high school, either. Helen was at the breaking point.

Daria had looked warily at her, defensive. They had stared at each other, both surprised at the fatigue evident on both faces.

"Mom, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry about all this, and that's all I can really say."

Helen's long nights, the constant barrage of reporters and questions, boiled to a head.

"Sorry? Is that all you can say!"

Daria's face had closed off, locking Helen out once again. That infuriated the exhausted woman.

"I hope you're proud of yourself! Three and a half years of college wasted! You're going to be hiding the rest of your life? Both your father and sister have had nervous breakdowns! Your own best friend has testified against you, that she thinks you were the embezzler for the mob! I nearly got disbarred from practicing law! Daria, I trusted you. I had faith in you!"

Daria's own tempered had flared then, and she had stepped forward, glaring up into her mothers face. One of the two guards had stepped nervously forward and stammered, "Ahh, ladies, I really think ... "

The double barreled Barksdale mother-daughter glare had stopped better men than he. He stumbled backwards, suddenly needing to be elsewhere. They turned their attention back to each other.

"This hasn't been great for me either, Mother! My career is over before it even started! I'll be lucky to get a job at a convenience store, or a Payday! I've lost Jane, when I was only trying to keep her alive! I know Quinn's going through hell right now, but that's not all my fault. I don't give a damn about Tom. But I never wanted anything to spill over on her, or any of you!"

"Daria, I've done my best to believe in you, to support you in all this."

"Then why can't you believe me! The court did!"

"Daria, I do believe you! But this has all been such a strain on us!"

"And it hasn't been a strain on me? Why don't you go sue somebody, then, that always seems to cheer you up! Try Sandi Griffin!"

"You ungrateful little monster! My job put you through that college you've just thrown out the window!"

Daria stared at her mother, then deliberately turned her back on her.

"Guards? I'm ready to go now. My _lawyer_ and I are finished!"

Helen had looked on helplessly as Daria had left. She picked up her purse, and slowly walked down the busy courthouse hallways. She tried to compose herself, and caught her reflection in some polished metal. Her eyes were reddened, her makeup had run. Helen tried to fix it in her compact mirror, but finally gave up.

"Who cares what I look like anymore, anyway?"

Helen wearily trudged her way to the courthouse steps. She groaned as she saw that the mob of reporters and news cameras hadn't thinned out, and they all rushed at her.

"Mrs. Morgendorffer! What do you think of your daughters lenient sentence?"

"Is it true that a contract has been put out on her by the Russian Mob!"

"Was the real reason your daughter fought with Jane Lane because they had a relationship, which Jane had dumped?"

"What? Daria and Jane were just friends!"

"Was your daughter Quinn really also in love with Jane, and jealous of her sister?"

"That's the most insane thing I've ever heard! Quinn is happily married to Tom Sloane!"

"Did Quinn really have a miscarriage, due to the stress caused by her sisters trial?"

"Her sister? Her sister? Enough of this!" Helen screamed at the flashing bulbs, and whirring cameras. "That ungrateful little convict and I are finished! As of this moment, Daria Morgendorffer, or whatever the federal government picks for her new name, is no daughter of mine!"


	7. Chapter 7

The power of the written word. Other than her reading of Waif Magazine, Sandi Griffin had never given it much thought. Brains were "losers." Teachers were "losers." Quinn's sister Daria had been "a substitute loser," that one time she had been a substitute teacher. Popular people, like she was, had no time for such "losers."

Still, now, here she was.

Sandi's long, thin, fingers rippled across the keyboard, the groups of letters flowing onto the computer screen. A skill she had once scorned had been hard learned in community college. Part time jobs as either a secretary or receptionist had demanded it. College had been a struggle for her after her pitiful high school experience.

It had been lonely, too. Sandi's haughty, cold attitude put off other women from being her friend.

She had generally been left out of any company get togethers, not that a secretary was generally invited to them. Most of the men she had been around generally avoided her, too, except for the hard core lechers, and Sandi had long experience at spotting those types.

With an ease that would have shocked her back in high school, Sandi wove together just enough facts to make the story in her column believable. Mr. O'Neill, her former English teacher, would have been proud of her skill. He would also have disapproved in that whimpering way he had of what she was using it for. But, Sandi had never really cared all that much for ethics, anyway. Life was never fair, and you had to take what you wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

Like she had been hurt.

Sandi's job as gossip columnist for Val magazine had been a stroke of luck. Desperate to get out of Lawndale, she had spread her resume far and wide, and gotten few offers. Then Val herself had called her, inviting her to her own office for an interview.

"So, Miss Griffith, you're from Lawndale?"

"Yes, ma'am. I graduated from Lawndale High in 2001, and I've . . . "

"I'm very aware of your school record, Miss Griffin. But you see, it's the people you know I'm interested in."

"I don't understand."

"I'm aware that you were a close friend of Daria Morgendorffer's sister, Quinn."

The familiar stab of loneliness and jealousy jabbed Sandi right through the heart. Other than the frozen mask she wore trembling a bit, Sandi showed no sign of any distress. Keeping her cool, Sandi kept her eyes fixed on Val's face.

"Yes, but I don't see how that has anything to do with my employment."

"You don't? Val might be an edgy teen magazine, but we do follow scandals as well. A handsome Russian playing with the hearts of two American girls who just happen to be best friends, and might have been a little bit . . . more?"

"I don't really think Daria and Jane were that way."

"Are you sure? Were you with them every time they met?"

"No, of course not."

"You see? That's how you play this game. No big difference from high school. Smear, smear, smear. We all have our dirty little secrets, don't we?"

Val continued talking, but Sandi was looking at something quite different from the richly furnished office. The clear night sky was overhead, with the stars twinkling high above. The thick trees clustered around the parked cars. Flames roared high into the night, sparks flying out of the bonfire, but the drunken crowd of teen-aged boys didn't care. Their catcalls were eclipsed by the voice with the bullhorn.

No! Sandi's slammed to a frantic stop. Her nails cut deeply into the soft palms of her hands. She trembled on the edge of the hysteria she had buried for years, and grimly fought back to awareness.

"So you see, not only is the scandal good copy, a millionaire's fiancee with, shall we say, a loose background is juicy, too. Even if Val itself can't use it, we can trade the story to a magazine that can use it."

Val cocked her head and looked at Sandi with calculation in her eyes. She bore little resemblance to the bizarrely dressed woman Sandi remembered from Lawndale High. That woman had seemed pathetic, a middle-aged wanna-be that had pretended to be one of the girls her magazine was sold to. Val's hair was still blonde, but fashionable style. She was slightly taller than Sandi, very lean. She dressed conservatively, in a grey pantsuit.

"I do remember you, too, Sandi. You were the one who that told me something about mixing primary colors in your wardrobe!"

Sandi bit her lip. She had said that, hadn't she? It was right, and the color combination of blue and yellow was so, so gross! Her old pride struggled with her new place in the world, where she pounded the pavement, almost begging door to door for a decent job. Val looked at her coolly, measuring her reaction.

"I, I'm sorry about that, now, but, I was right."

"No problem, really, actually, you are right. Seeing me in a business suit confusing you?"

Sandi decided to take the initiative. She couldn't do much worse, now.

"Yes, yes! You look more mature, more in charge."

More like my mom, or Ms. Li, she thought to herself.

"Sandi, in public, I am **Val**, as in **Val!** I dress like I'm only fifteen, I say things like "edgy," all the time. I jump from subject to subject like I'm on a sugar rush. I babble about cheating boyfriends, and I drop the names of every teen star. But really, if that was real, do you think I could honestly operate a multimillion dollar publishing empire?"

Sandi felt like she was reading on firmer ground here, shreds of her old self confidence came slowly back to her.

"No, no, you couldn't. But then, why would you want somebody like me?"

Val leaned forward, her elbows on her desk.

"Daria, the Anti-Teen, doesn't get involved, don't do anything. That Landon girl got on me about involvement, while standing next to her was the ultimate drop out?"

"Daria? I never really liked her, I always thought she was sort of mean, and I was always a bit afraid of her."

"She was violent?"

"No, not really, but she was really good at cutting people down. She did it to both students and the faculty."

The smile that grew on Val's face grew wider, like a shark relishing its next meal.

"Miss Griffin, I think I have a place for you at Val."

Val had been true to her word. Sandi had to work very hard, digging into her diaries, contacting old acquaintances, but it had all paid off. She pulled togther everything she had ever heard about either Daria or Quinn. It had been Sandi's idea to release the book to the public on Quinn's wedding day. Her former "friends" hadn't talked to her in a while, anyway. Quinn's coldly informing an excited Stacy that she would be the maid of honor, while Sandi and Tiffany were only bridesmaids, had been the last straw.

The book Daria! From Drop Out to Embezzler! hit the stands with a thunder clap. Ms. Li had even written the foreword, as a reward for her assistance. To no ones surprise, Quinn's sexual history proved to be the most read part, her experience at age fourteen slanted enough to make her the aggressor. Enough jilted boys from Lawndale gleefully added their own stories of what they said Quinn had done on dates to make up a sequel. Joey White, Jeffy Grissom, and Jamie Chaffee spoke out bitterly on Quinn's attraction to only guys that could give her the most, while she promised nothing.

Helen Morgendorffer's attempts to sue for libel had come to nothing. There were too many witnesses to testify for Quinn's alleged loose character. Helen had retreated from the limelight when men **she** had dated during high school and college jumped on the bandwagon. The stunt car driver she had lost her virginity to appearing on Howard Stern, and giving a quite detailed account of the act, as well as showing off the panties he had kept as a memento, had been the final blow. Helen had been lucky to keep her job after that revelation. Only the strong lobbying of Eric Schrecter, a partner at the law firm, had kept her from being dismissed in humiliation. Though it hadn't stopped the whispering as to exactly why he had done it.

Rita Barksdale had become quite the celebrity, with her comments, before her mother Tess had almost literally put her under house arrest. Amy had become the favorite target of paparazzi then, resulting in several scuffles, as well as one assault and battery charge when she had run over a photographer's foot. Fortunately, most of her ex-boyfriends kept their mouths shut. The one that didn't mysteriously developed a black eye, after he made a comment on the creative use Amy had made with chocolate pudding during their relationship. Amy took some time off her job after the incident.

Val raked in millions. Sandi received a great office, and a fantastic commission. Sure, she was scorned by serious writers, but so what? They were all losers, writing books that nobody really wanted to read. Val admired her zeal at digging out secrets, her way of dealing with people with information. Her column, "Sandi's Secrets" became the most popular part of Val Magazine.

Stacy had fiercely fought off any attempts to interview her. Even the most persistent reporter soon gave up on Tiffany. Trying to make any sense of her glacially slow speech taxed the most patient of reporters. Oddly, Sandi hardly ever mentioned them in print, not even in passing. Val hadn't minded. She merely noted to herself that her new "reporter" had a few scruples left. Daria was her real target and gravy train. Quinn and Jane Lane were just appetizers.

Val had felt vaguely sorry for the Morgendorffer adults, but, business was business. If they played their cards right, they could make a fortune on the talk show circuit. But other than Helen's fiery rejection of an offer from Howard Stern, and an offer from some of the more notorious skin mags eager to cash in on the headlines, they had basically refused to do that. Intimate photos of Rita Barksdale surfaced, courtesy of several of her ex-husbands. These were soon followed by several extremely revealing shots and sketches of Amy when she had posed for a life drawing class. She had signed a standard models release form when she had done them, giddy with had seemed the freedom of college. The more they tried to hide, the harder they were sought out.

What Val had originally thought of as a temporary position to pick Sandi's brains became a permanent position. Sandi's determination and skill at ferreting out facts about people was almost supernatural. The tall, lean, deep-voiced young woman made few friends. She dated regularly, but never very seriously. She always dressed fashionably and attended all the right parties. She drank sparingly, didn't smoke, and never took "recreational" drugs, but never informed on anybody that she knew was taking them. This one fact was never revealed in her books or columns, though anything else was fair game.

To Val's surprise, Sandi turned out to have hidden depths. She lobbied for and got approval for child care facilities at the magazine. Coming from the self-absorbed gossip columnist, it was a shock, but a welcome one. Many of Val's magazine staff were single mothers. The thank you party they gave for Sandi was the one time anybody ever saw her lose her composure and cry.

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Summer 2000, right after the events of Is It Fall Yet.

David Sorenson carefully edged his way between the thick trees and brush. The college junior was enjoying his last free time before he went back to college. Birdwatching was a favorite hobby of his. The English major felt good. He had tutored several teenagers that summer. One, a high school junior named Quinn, had turned out to be a diamond in the rough. The beautiful strawberry blonde girl had struggled hard at the beginning, but had overcome her distaste at having anything to do with "brains," and had really taken off. Her girlfriends, just to keep up with, had also hired him, but that hadn't worked out well at all. Sandi Griffin had commanded him like he was a servant, Stacy Rowe had an anxiety attack, and Tiffany Blum-Deckler hadn't even noticed when he had gotten mad and left. Those three girls were in for a rude awakening if they ever made it to any kind of college.

He stopped, smelling wood smoke and frowned. The forest was bone dry, and the US Forest Service had a total ban on fires in it. Still, the clearing ahead was a popular place for parties, for teens from Oakwood. This late on a Sunday, likely the only thing there was a pile of trash, beer cans, liquor bottles, food wrappers, and other things. David reached the edge of the clearing and sighed. Luckily, the huge bonfire that had been here hadn't spread to any of the thickly surrounding trees and brush.

The dried grass was heavily rutted with tire tracks. The air felt stagnant, heavy, with the mingled smells of smoke, beer, and urine. The huge sun in the clear sky blazed, baking the earth beneath it. The only sound he could hear was the swish and crackle of the browned grass as he forced his way through it. He stopped suddenly, and listened carefully. There, he heard it again. A faint whimper sounded from a thick clump of trees ahead.

Had the drunken party goers hurt an animal? David pulled off his cap and sighed, wiping off his forehead with a handkerchief he carried. Then he settled the cap back on his forehead and carefully walked over to the trees. He knew better than to disturb a hurt or sick animal, but he wanted to get some idea of what was wrong before he contacted the local ranger station.

After the brightness of the sun outside, the shade under the trees was close to total. Bright patches of sunlight alternated with the darkness, making it hard to see what was there. To his disgust, the ground here was littered with trash, too. The thick dry leaves crackled under his feet as he walked carefully forward.

An old mattress, which looked as if it had been hauled out of a trash dump, lay on the ground in front of him. It was also covered with trash. Rips in its surface showed the old springs poking out at irregular intervals. A huddled shape was on the ground next to it, partially covered by a few rags, and surprisingly, duct tape. David's heart began to sink, and he moved carefully closer, until he knew for sure that he was staring at white flesh, and tousled brown hair. He desperately hoped he was staring at a department store mannikin, set there as a sick joke. He knew it wasn't.

The mindless whimper came from deep inside her, from the drooling mouth just under the mass of tape covering her eyes. David fumbled for his cell phone, thankful when he saw that he had a signal.

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Sandi laid quietly staring at the ceiling in Oakwood Memorial Hospital. She hadn't said a word since the ambulance had brought her in. She had ignored the indignities of the nurses as they had used the rape kit on her, using swabs to take samples, measuring bite marks, taking pictures of her injuries. She hadn't answered the questions of the detective as she had questioned her. Even her parent's entrance, with Linda screaming threats at everybody in sight, hadn't roused her at all. Sandi had just lain there, hearing the flames from the fire as it roared high into the night. And that voice.

"Gentlemen! I know we're all sad that Oakwood lost the game with Lawndale!" The loud booing and profanity echoed around the clearing.

"But, we have a prize for you tonight! Not Brittany, or any of the cheerleaders, but still, one of Lawndale's hottest! From the parking lot of the Millennium Mall, I give you . . . "

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Sandi crawled out of her bed that morning, careful not to disturb Fluffy. The White Persian cat was very old, now, but Sandi still lavished all of her love and attention on him. Val magazine had an early meeting that morning, and Sandi was never late, not with all that she considered she owed Val. She scrubbed herself vigorously in the shower, feeling the pain as the rough pads she used tore at her skin, but she didn't mind physical pain anymore. Now she that knew there were worse pain.

Sandi hesitated just before she left her apartment, feeling the need again, cursing herself for her weakness. Then she gave in. Laying her briefcase down, she ran back into her bedroom. Fluffy stared at her as she opened her closet, and carefully opened the secret door built into the back of it. Sandi stared at her secret, the only real secret in her life that was hers. The sharp stilettos glistened in the dim light, their sheaths hanging just below them. She carefully picked one up, feeling the sharpness of it as it pricked her finger tip, the bright droplet of blood gleamed as it ran down her finger, and she carefully licked it off. This weekend, she was going to go hunting.

Again.


	8. Chapter 8

Jake stared at his fingers clutching the steering wheel of the Lexus for a long time. His mother, Ruth, was living in a senior only condo, a far cry from the small wooden house she had once lived in with Jake and her husband, Matt, "Mad Dog" Morgendorffer. It had almost always been his mother and himself, though. He barely remembered his older sister, Joan. His father, "Mad Dog," he chiefly remembered as a figure who constantly pointed out his faults.

It was only the patient work of Dr. Solomon, his psychiatrist, that made Jake take a step back from his hair trigger rants, to look at how his relationship with both parents had shaped him, affected both his marriage and adult behavior. Jake had even told the man about his one night stand with Monique.

"Jake, I'm not a judge, only your councillor. You've told me that this affair made you feel both guilty and great."

"Yes, and I don't understand it."

"Jake, believe it or not, you are a healthy, middle-aged human male. Because of all the stress in your family, you've been, shall we say, uninterested physically in sex."

"Dammit, doc, I was impotent!"

"Jake, listen to me. You've been under constant stress your entire life. Your father's disapproval sent you to your mother, who over indulged you to make up for it, and of course, made your father disapprove even more, becoming even more distant from you."

"Selfish old bastard!"

"Calm. Jake, calm. Remember that it's your life right now. You're a grown man. Your parents were both human beings, just like you. They made mistakes, just like every other human being alive. You've made mistakes, but you've done good things, too. You are a good, decent human being."

"I am a good, decent, human being."

"Exactly. Your father is gone now. You don't live with your mother. Just remember, every problem has a solution, even if that solution is not always an easy one. We've talked about your marriage, and I really wish we could have talked Helen into coming here with you. Based on what you've told me, you transferred your dependence on your mother to your wife. We've talked about this at length. That why you have one public face at your job and another with your wife and family. "

Jake had sighed, slumping back into his chair.

"That was part of my problem, doc, I know that. I ranted, I raved, just like a kid, to get my own way when everybody ignored me, but at home, I was doing it to get attention from Helen and the girls."

"Jake, you didn't know any better. You lived an isolated life with your parents. You had a horrible time at military school. You went right into college, where you got swept along with all the high hopes that were sweeping this country at the time. I was there, too. I remember how I felt in college, on my own for the first time. But you never had a chance to learn what an average, everyday life was. Based on what you've told me, Helen had problems with her family, too. A controlling mother, a spoiled older sister. Your wife comes across to me as a strong-willed person, who almost becomes her cause."

Jake glumly nodded.

"That's a good picture of Helen all right, doc. Especially since we got married, she's worked

like crazy, to take care of the girls." And me, he added silently to himself.

"And you've felt like the only thing she really wanted from you was the sex, because you didn't feel like a father, which you so tied to your feelings about your own father that you avoided the whole thing by acting childishly, unconsciously recreating your childhood."

Jake straightened in his chair.

"But, I am a man. That's who Helen married. I am a father, even though I had problems with the whole idea. I'm generally okay when I'm working, it's only at home I have a problem with how I act."

"Exactly, Jake. You're a man, a father, and a husband. It's up to you to know how to act. I can't tell you how to live your life. I can only show you how things developed, and how you can change them, if you want to."

"A man helps to take care of his family. I should be there more for Quinn, let her know that her old man is always there for her, if she needs me."

"That's a very responsible attitude, Jake, and a very mature one. She's a grown woman, but, she's still your daughter."

"And Daria. She's always been so mature, she's scared me sometimes."

"Highly intelligent children need as much love and devotion as other children, and sometimes a lot more, even if they have a hard time showing it, sometimes. The fact that Daria did open up to you is a good sign, even with all her current problems. She does love you, even after her well-publicized breakup with her mother. I know it will be hard, but insist on some contact with her, even a possible meeting, if you can arrange it with the US Marshall's office."

Jake gulped.

"And, uh, Helen?"

"Do you still love her?"

"Well, of course!"

"Then tell her! Think about the things you've shared. Don't agonize over your mistakes. Learn from them. Deal with them. It's not going to be easy, but one way or another, you can take charge of your life. Work with Helen. Things are rough for her, too. She might not understand what you are going through. She will see your changes as threatening, to a degree. Reassure her, but stand firm. You are not your father. Learn from his mistakes, but don't copy them. You've already done a great job, Jake. Monique was right about that. Good luck with your future, and remember, as cliched as this might sound, it is what you make it."

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The visit to his mother had pushed Jake's new resolve to the limit.

"Jake, your father is dead. He wasn't a very pleasant man, something you helped me face when you had your heart problem. I haven't spoken to Joan since then, and I don't care to, now."

"But, but you had said you hadn't talked to Joan since Dad's funeral, Mom!"

His mother flushed a bright red, at being caught in her lie.

"I, uh, I meant . . . "

"Mom, have you been talking to Joan this whole time? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I didn't want to get you upset, that's why, with your heart and all!"

"All these years, I didn't think she wanted to have anything to do with me or you, and you lied to me!"

Jake heard the same sick whine start to edge out into his voice. He deliberately forced his hands open, laying them palms down on the arms of the chair. His mother looked at him, frightened. Was his mother afraid of him! But, he'd never hurt her! Didn't she know that? His mother burst out, almost babbling in her rush to get the words out.

"All right! Are you happy? I lied to you! I've lied to you for years! I'm not like your father or sister! I'm not strong and smart, like Helen or Daria! I'm weak, I'm dumb! I've never been anything but a housewife! That's the only thing I've ever done! That, and raise you! I really did a great job of that, didn't I? Now Matt is reaching out from his grave, taking you away from me, the same way he stole your sister from me when he was still alive!"

At the look of astonishment on Jake's face, Ruth broke down, covering her face with her hands, her thin shoulders shaking. Jake stood up, looking down on his mother. Almost like it was the first time, he noticed how small she actually was, the wrinkles on her skin, the thinness of the grey hair on her scalp. He was suddenly, abruptly, aware, that his mother was an old woman. In a stunned voice, he choked out, "Mom?"

"All I ever wanted was a daughter, a little girl that I could raise, teach her everything my mother taught me, everything I had learned! But Joan didn't want to learn anything from me, she wanted to be a soldier, like her father was! She went camping with him, learned shooting, she did everything with him! She couldn't wait to graduate from high school and join the damned Army! Ha! Lot of good that did her! She was a nurse in one of those hospitals in Vietnam, during that damned war, and look what happened! I almost died of the shame, and she, she . . . "

Ruth's ranting stopped, and she raised her face, looking wild eyed at Jake as he stood silently over her.

"God help me, when she was hurt, I wanted her dead! I thought she deserved it! That mortar round killed everybody else in the ward she was working in! I wanted her dead, just to spite your father! My little girl! My oldest child, and I wanted her dead!"

Jake stared at the small grey haired woman crying before him in horror.

"Mom? Did you really hate Dad that much?"

"Yes! No! I just don't know anymore! He could be kind, good, he did take care of his family, no matter what! But after those horrible things in Korea, I lost him! I didn't understand him anymore! He wouldn't tell me why! Then, then there was that child! Like I didn't know what all that was about! Guess what, Jake! You wanted to know your father's secrets? Well, here's a good one! You have **two** sisters, Jake!"

"What! Mom, what are you talking about!"

"Your father wasn't faithful to me! He consorted with a whore! A filthy Korean whore! You have a little sister, Jake! Your father's little "Angel!" He dared call her an angel! The rotten old failure. He called her an angel!"

Oddly, Jake's ranting seemed to draw back from him. He felt like he was looking through a telescope, at something that had happened a long time ago, and far away. Something like an icy calm descended on him. His mother abruptly noticed Jake looking down on her, not in hate or disgust, but in curiosity, like she was something he was studying. She staggered to her feet, clutching at his arms.

"Go to Hell, Mad Dog! Go to Hell! Jake's all I ever had! You wouldn't let me raise Joan, let me have Jake! I stopped him from going to war! He's still alive, because of me! Stop it, Jake! Don't look at me like that! Not in the same way he always did!"

Did his mother want him to rant and rage? Jake felt his old feelings of fear and self loathing raging deep inside him, but the walls of self respect and duty he had so painfully worked on held them back. Respect for himself, and his duty to his family and friends. Dr. Solomon had worked extensively with Jake, honing his focus and drive. He knelt down, gently pushing his mother back down into her chair as she stared at him. The good and the bad, this woman, flaws and all, was the main force in his life. She had focused her whole life for her children, given all she had, to raise them and care for them.

Ruth's visit to his house when he had the heart attack came into a sudden, clear, focus. Ruth's attacks on Helen's fumbling attempts at cooking, or home decoration. Her insistence on Quinn becoming a housewife, not a doctor. Her bewilderment at Daria's subtle barb's, until Daria's final, bald-faced last statement had driven her from her son's home.

"She wants you both to model your lives after hers. And who could blame her? After all, you were just telling Dad yesterday how you made all the right decisions in your life. Right, Grandma? "

Had Daria really understood the savage cruelty of that statement? Did she really understand the sheer viciousness of it? She had been trying to drive her grandmother out of the house, and she had succeeded. Ruth had never come back, hadn't even called, just sent the obligatory Christmas and birthday cards. And he, her son, hadn't done a thing about it. He had just gone on with his life, ranting and raving like a spoiled child, embarrassing his wife and daughters.

Daria had been right, but had been wrong, too. Every adult had decisions he or she had to make, almost none of them easy. His poor mother had been an easy target. If Daria had used that line on Helen's mother! Even now, Jake shivered at the thought.

"Mom? Mom, listen to me! I'm not blaming you for anything! You raised me, and more then Dad ever did! I'm still your son. I'm just not your little boy anymore more. I love you, Mom, and I always will! I will always love, you, now, more than ever."

His mother cried herself to sleep in his arms, in an act of total role reversal. Jake sat with her for a long time, sifting his life through his mind, the same way he evaluated business opportunities. Mom and Dad, Helen, Daria, Quinn. Joan, and finally, Monique. These people all had a hand in shaping his life, just like Helen's family had shaped hers. Just like Helen and he had shaped Daria and Quinn. Would their daughter's someday be suffering the same wounds?

Jake shook his head. He'd call Helen, tell her something of what had happened, and after talking with Joan, go home, and work things out with his wife, if not for the sake of their own crumbling relationship, then at least, for Daria and Quinn. Still, his other sister? Who was she? Where was she? Would Joan know, would his older sister even talk to him after all these years?

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Monique stumbled into the bathroom, barely making it into the small dingy space before her stomach broke loose. After the morning ritual of gut wrenching heaves had finished, she staggered blearily back to her bed. This had happened all week, and she really ought to go see the doctor, she supposed. She lit up a cigarette, to calm her nerves, but stopped before putting it into her mouth, staring at the tip as it slowly smoldered as she made a few mental calculations. Sick every morning, late period. She smothered the cigarette in the overflowing ash tray. She'd been sort of celibate lately, so who? The night at the quarry, and the rainstorm came to mind. Could it be?


	9. Chapter 9

Daria was sitting at one of the small tables at Café Lawndale, formerly alt. Jane sat beside her, her lean features visible in the dim light from the stage. Another one of their classmates, a scruffy-looking guy, was playing the guitar on stage, and singing, sort of.

"Can't stand your lips / Can't stand your eyes / Can't stand your teeth / Can't stand your thighs / That's why I loathe . . . you . . . "

He then smashed the guitar on stage, screaming,

"Dammit! Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

After he stalked off the stage, Mr. O'Neill came into the spotlight, his bland face obviously shaken by the previous performance. His soft voice quavered.

"Ah, I'd like to thank, ah, um, Daryl, for that, ah, heartfelt expression of his personal feelings, as put to song. Next, we have, ah, Brittany Taylor, and um, Kevin Thompson, doing one of the climatic scenes from one of Shakespeare's best known plays, _Romeo and Juliet_."

Kevin, as usual wearing his football uniform, complete with shoulder pads, carried a folding ladder on stage and set it up in the center spotlight. The usual hooting from a squad of football players came from behind the two girls, and Kevin grinned back at them before exiting the spotlight again.

Daria sighed.

_The only reason those clowns are even in here is because Ms. Li pressured Coach Gibson to have some of his boys to attend this fiasco of a grand reopening. O'Neill must have really put on a sob story for her to do that, all for the glory of Lawndale High._

Jane grinned at the sour expression on Daria'sface. Seeing her classmate's make fools out of themselves was a favorite activity for her, and they almost never let her down. Brittany Taylor, the head cheerleader, flounced dramatically on stage, wearing a pink medieval cap and veil. Jane rolled her eyes as Kevin followed her, holding a skull. Jane sniggered. Daria's comment to Kevin earlier, about Shakespeare's play of Hamlet having a skull in it, had predictably paid off. Brittany frowned at Kevin, then carefully climbed the stepladder to the very top, as ladylike as she could manage while wearing her cheerleading uniform. Loudly clearing her throat, she began.

"Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?"

Kevin, below her, looked up, vaguely confused.

" I'm right here, babe!"

The table of football players cheered Kevin on. Brittany glared at them until they quieted down, then continued.

" Deny thy father and refuse thy name! Or thou will't not be but sworn, my love, and I'll no longer be a Caplet!"

"Hey! Yo! I'm down here! Check it out!"

"Check it out? You promised to learn your lines, you, you clown!"

She climbed down from the ladder and glared at him.

"And what's that skull supposed to be? Ohhh!"

She marched out of the limelight in a real temper. Kevin stood helplessly by himself for a few seconds, hearing the snickering and hooting coming from the darkness, and helplessly shrugged.

"The skull's cool."

As he left, Andrea then stepped on stage. A stereotypical Goth, she wore a loose grey pullover blouse, and a long black skirt. Glaring at the audience, she cleared her throat and began.

" I'm here. But where are you? Sure, I see your body. Anybody home in that rotting bag of flesh?"

She then walked off stage. Daria and Jane still seated at their table, clapped politely. Jane shuddered dramatically.

" See? You don't want to do poetry for this crowd."

"You think it's too late for me to learn juggling?"

"Yep."

Mr. O'Neill stepped back on stage after Andrea had left.

"Thank you very much, Andrea. It takes a lot of courage to expose your raw emotions that way."

A spotlight on her table surprised Andrea, who was drinking from a bottle; she quickly moved it behind her. Mr. O'Neill cleared his throat.

"Now, speaking of raw emotions, it's my pleasure to introduce one of Lawndale High's most gifted writers: Daria Morgendorffer."

Daria walked up on stage and read from a sheaf of papers.

"Thank you. Tonight I'd like to read a new story I've written entitled, "Where The Future Takes Us." "

In the darkness another drama was going on. Brittany hissed in a loud whisper,

"You insensitive jerk!"

This was followed by a sound of breaking glass. Kevin yelled.

"Ow!"

Maintaining her composure with the ease of long practice, Daria ignored the two and continued her reading.

"As students standing at the dawn of a brand-new century, we face certain choices. How do we prepare for the future? Melody Powers knew how she was going to prepare, as she checked the fit one more time on her tooled leather shoulder holster. She thought about all the communists she would be taking out tonight."

The bored crowd became interested. Daria could hear people hushing each other. She continued.

"Melody harbored no illusions about unilaterally stemming the resurging red tide. "But," she reflected with a grim smile, "what special agent could resist the opportunity to fill a few Bolshevik cemeteries?"

She saw Mr. O'Neill at the stage wing, looking shocked, worried and frightened. Daria shrugged and concentrated on her reading. She was unaware of the passing of time as she focused on her work, the silence of the crowd almost overwhelmed her. She knew they were out there, listening breathlessly, to her work. Her work!

" As Melody sunbathed on the Rio beach, she looked back upon the past few days with a certain quiet satisfaction: twelve dead Russians, five dead Chinese, three or four dead Cubans. The world was once again safe for democracy, she reflected while watching Tonio's exquisite chest rise and fall with his light snoring."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw Brittany and Kevin at a table. Brittany was very attentive to Daria's story. Kevin had a black eye, but he was listening closely, too.

" Safe for democracy, or almost safe. Melody brushed some errant grains of sand off her fingers, tied her top back on, and reached into her beach bag. Tonio heard nothing, and that was a pity, because he would never hear anything again. "So long, Tonio," she thought as she calmly stood up. "I could have loved you, if you weren't as red as the blood stain now spreading across the sand."

Mr. O'Neill hid his face in hands. Daria continued.

"Melody walked calmly away toward the hotel. There'd be a message there from HQ, no doubt. She hoped she had time to shower."

The audience was silent for a moment; then, Kevin jumped up and cheered, followed by the rest of the audience.

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_Jane and I were true blue buddies back then, partners in crime, Yin to Yang. Even that mess with Tom didn't change that. We survived that. That flirtation she had with Allison, where she nearly went all the way with her, we survived that. My semester without her, when I went to school at Raft six months ahead of her, it was rough, but I survived it. I even met a few people who weren't intolerably bad, intelligent people, like Sarah, my roommate, who helped me adjust to school. Granted, she was almost a clone of Quinn and Brittany combined, but she was nice for all that. And now, Melody Powers has returned from her grave, in my memory, and in one of the more scandalous ways she could._

Daria had the bittersweet satisfaction of becoming a well-known author, while hiding from the results of her fame. Critics savagely lashed out at her stories as "juvenile far-right wing propaganda." "Well, I was fifteen when I wrote those stories," Daria muttered, torn between her dismay at what she was being labeled as, and her writers pride for anything she had produced.

She sat by herself in the crowded mall food court, waiting for her monthly meeting with the deputy from the US Marshals office. Sipping on a cappuccino, she eyed the crowd around her. Mostly middle-aged women out on their own, doing some shopping before the schools let out, and the halls filled with teenagers.. Daria, in her blue jeans and grey sweat shirt, felt distinctly drab.

Suddenly aware that somebody had sat down opposite she opened her mouth to tell him that she was waiting for somebody, then closed it. He had done it to her again. Almost the perfect invisible man, he was medium height, lean, with close cropped, black hair, and a plain grey suit. The bland look on his face didn't distract Daria from the fact that he had an iron grip over her life, if he chose to use it.

"Good to see you again, Miss Jones."

"Likewise, Mr. Smith. "

The faintest of smiles quirked the corner of both the agent and Daria's lips at Daria's reference to the fact that "Smith" and "Jones" seemed to be the surnames most used by government agents. She liked Smith.. As much as she liked any of them . He had a fleeting sense of ironic humor close to hers, The agent placed his briefcase on the table, and removed a plastic shopping bag that contained several magazines.

"Just for the record, you did not send this material to "Brutal Mercenary" magazine, did you? We did identify it as your work, from your younger days. You admitted to us that you wrote it, after the Justice Department had seized all of your computers and writings."

Daria frowned.

"That's what I don't understand. The Government has everything of mine! I didn't write anything new at all! About all I can do any more is typing exercises! You know, "The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog"stuff. Where did Conroy get it?"

Daria controlled herself with difficulty. Melody Powers had been one of her violent revenge fantasies, though written in the satirical fashion she had developed, written to mock both the Cold War, and spy movies in general. She was a hot, sexy woman, who easily bested her male colleagues and rivals, and she racked up a bad guy body count that easily rivaled the death toll from the first "Terminator" movie. From the one copy she had managed to get hold of, however, this "Melody Powers" was a hard core, right wing assassin who coldly killed drug dealers and corrupt politicians, most of whom happened to be ethnic minorities.

"I've brought you several copies of the magazine in question. We'd like you to compare it to what you remember of your own work. I tried to get you a copy of your version, but its slow going trying to pry it loose. If you note any differences, we can use it to incriminate suspects. Conroy seriously believes you sent him this work, and was proud of the fact. He's prepared to offer you a handsome settlement for publishing your work, by the way. Your father protested it as being published without your permission, but with your legal status being shaky at best right now, he couldn't get much done."

"My dad protested? Not . . . mom?"

A spark of sympathy softened Smith's face.

"Your mother has been rather quiet lately. Your father, on the other hand, has been quite vocal in his concern for you and your sister. There's been a real changer in him lately, calmed, determined and intelligent. He impressed me very much at our last meeting."

"Is he and mom still together?" And why should I care anymore, anyway, she thought dully to herself.

"As far as I know, but then, they're not required to check in with us."

"Yes, yes, of course."

"No problem. Being concerned about then is only natural. But, back to the problem at hand."

"Melody Powers."

"Right. Either somebody is attempting to capitalize on what's left of your "notoriety, which we have a hard time believing. Why now? You're not exactly in the public eye anymore. And why "Brutal Mercenary" magazine? Buck Conroy runs a two bit paint ball operation, with middle-aged suburbanites getting their thrills at shooting targets and other players."

"Somebodies trying to put me back on the target spot, either me, or maybe Jane."

"Yes. But, why now? Dimitri has the money, his bosses don't have him, and they want him back badly. He, uh, he does seem to genuinely care for Miss Lane . . . "

Daria wilted at that comment, her shoulders bowing.

"I'm sorry. But he does have your computer files, and so your stories. It's possible the Mob has the files as well. This might be an attempt to draw Miss Lane out, as bait. She would be about the only thing that would."

"I, I really can't believe that, even now."

"I'm sorry. I know you two were close friends. But, we are stepping up our contacts with both of you. I've been allowed to give you this cell phone, to contact us in case of an emergency only. One last thing, and this might not have anything to do with your case at all, but, do you play chess?"

Daria tilted her head, staring at the agent.

"Chess? Of course, I know how to play it, but why?"

Smith frowned.

"Have you ever played online chess?"

Daria focused on the agent. He was deadly serious with these questions. Of course, Jane had always bragged about Dimitri's skills in chess. But, that wasn't what he had asked, and she was tired of being dangled, like bait on a hook, for people who never explained anything. She shrugged.

"No."

Smith looked closely at her for a long moment, then sighed. It had just been a question, and his superiors had forbidden him to tell her any more than he had. Daria took the plastic bag and walked away, her shoulders even more bent then before. This isolation from her friend, as well as not being able to do what she loved, write, was killing her, he realized. Daria was being forced to live a half life, never trusting anyone, never able to relax, tell anybody the truth, at the beck and call of faceless federal agents

Still, he did know why he had been told to ask her the chess question. Dimitri had apparently downloaded some old KGB information, while online, but then deleted it. Only the file name had been recovered. Oddly, it wasn't a Russian name, but a German one. It sounded like one of Hitler's crazier schemes, from the closing days of the last world war.

**The** **Gotterdammerung Gambit.** The doom of the gods, in Norse mythology. Gambit implied chess. Still, whatever he had seen there, had spooked a cold-blooded Russian assassin into betraying a group of vengeful men, and he couldn't believe it had been for love of Jane Lane. Still, people did crazy things for love.

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Nearby, an attractive middle-aged blonde sipped her own drink slowly, unnoticed by either Deputy Smith or Daria in the crowd of soccer moms.. She hadn't heard what they had been talking about, of course, in the crowded court. But she had recognized Daria instantly. So this was where the government had put her after the trial! But the look of weary desolation on the young woman's face shook her to the core. Daria looked like the cares of the whole world had dumped on her thin shoulders. For the first time, she honestly considered the way she had handled the whole affair with her sister's niece. She thought of Daria not as a news item, not as a bargaining piece in the detente between the three Barksdale sisters, but as her sister's daughter, like her own Erin was to her.

She sat very quietly at the table for a long time.


	10. Chapter 10

The street noise impacted Jane's hearing only dimly. The five A.M. Boston traffic was a dull roar, faintly heard over the hum of the small fan as it rotated on its base, sending a current of air wafting over her sweaty skin. She lay on her side, studying Dimitri's chiseled profile as he lay on his back next to her, as comfortably nude in the damp Boston night as she was. His strong, rhythmic breathing was a comfort. His well-defined chest muscles were a study of strength at rest. Even the jagged scar, high on one side of his chest defined his ruggedness and sensitivity.

Jane's critical artistic vision had always been able to find the inner beauty, or hidden ugliness inside in most subjects. Her teachers at the Boston Fine Arts College had helped her with honing that talent. She still preferred abstracts and caricatures. Now, though, she studiously attended her life drawing classes, making sketch after candid sketch of the people around her.

Daria had even sat and modeled a few times, but always completely clothed, in spite of Jane's entreaties.

"My parents, my sister, selected doctors, and several classes of teenaged girls who shared the horror which is high school Physical Education with me, all know what I look like, naked. The latter group only know that due to having to share showers after said classes. At this time, I see no reason at all to increase that number, except perhaps for select individuals, who will gain that position on a need to know basis, only."

"So, you're saying that they would have to fill out a form?"

"Yes, in triplicate."

"Damn."

And there the matter had stood. Daria was as private as ever concerning her personal life. Dimitri had been a sore point between them from the first. Jane had been so enthusiastic over detailing their relationship to Daria that she hadn't really noticed her friend's discomfort, especially when Jane launched into Dimitri's stamina in certain matters.

"Maybe we both just need a bit of space. I know what kind of person she is. She's always so tight lipped about her personal life, even now. She does date a bit, though she has never had any steady guy. We're both still cautious over the whole thing with Tom. I know she'd never go after Dimitri. In fact, I wish they got along a bit better then they do. They're both so coldly polite to each other, and I can't stand it. I'm so used to sharing just about everything with her, and now I can't."

Dimitri's past, what she knew of it, was also vaguely disturbing. The scar, had caused some uncomfortable moments with Daria as well.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Dimitri, you've always been honest with me." She had started hesitantly, once after a hot night. He had quirked one bushy eyebrow at her, but had said nothing, waiting patiently.

"But, you've never talked about this scar. Most guys I've known . . . "

Dimitri stiffened next to her, and Jane damned herself. Dimitri seldom showed any jealously, but he was a man, so any bringing up of a previous relationship was always awkward. Dimitri stood up, and walked away from her to the closet. She rolled to her feet, sure he was going to dress and leave, but instead, he opened the door, rummaged around, and came back to her, carrying a small wooden box. He sat down next to her, and flipping it open, handed it to her. She stared at the small collection of medals, most of them bearing the red field and Hammer and Sickle of the old USSR. She looked at her lover in confusion.

"Dimitri?"

"Jane, my love, I've told you that I was a soldier for my country,"

"Yes, you mean that you got that scar when you were a soldier?"

"Jane, I was much more then just a soldier. I was Spetsnaz, what your people call Special Forces. We were the best of all military in the once mighty Soviet."

Jane stared at him, suddenly so serious, almost alien to the man she knew. She tried to picture the man who made such passionate love to her in a stiff uniform, using a gun or knife to kill other people. Then she stiffened. Though not as serious a reader as Daria, she had boned up a bit on Russia, and had run across several references to the Spetsnaz. She glanced at the scar again.

"You mean that you got that scar in combat."

"Yes, it was during the terrorism in Chechnya, in 1999. They were killing Soviet citizens, and their own people, and tried to expand their murderousness into the Republic of Dagestan, to help the Muslim terrorists there. My unit was sent in to pacify the country."

"How did you get the scar?"

"I let my guard down, and I paid for it, Jane Lane."

"Please, just tell me how you got the scar."

"I was standing guard in a city street of Grozny, the capital. Normally, I would not have had such a task, but our forces were stretched very thin. A young woman came up to me, with a child in her arms, and begged for food. She was younger than you, Jane. She was only a girl, with a baby, like so many others."

Jane stared at him in dawning comprehension.

"You mean that a teenage girl did that?"

Dimitri stared at the wall behind Jane, his eyes seeing something no longer there.

"I was a soldier, Jane, but I was also a young man. I lowered my gun, and reached into my pocket, for a ration bar to give her. She threw her bundle over my head, at my comrades, and lunged at me with a knife. I shouted a warning, and I threw up my gun, to fend off her weapon, but she was too close, and her blade went deeply into my side, under my heart."

His matter of fact description echoed in Jane's mind. She stared at the scar, picturing a knife sliding into the flesh there, of Dimitri falling to the ground, blood pouring out of him, his attacker standing there.

"What happened then?"

His eyes still didn't meet hers.

"I followed my training. I reached out, and I broke her neck. It was very easy to do. The explosion behind me threw me on top of her body. It hadn't been a child of course, but only a doll, with a bomb. My comrades had thrown themselves to cover. Two Chechnya men standing there were not as quick as we, and they died."

"A girl?"

"She was a terrorist, Jane Lane. Just like the Viet Cong who killed American soldiers in Vietnam, and the fighters in Afghanistan who killed Russian soldiers there. Yes, my country supported The Peoples Republic of Vietnam, but that's how they fought. Terrorism. I make no excuses for either my actions or hers. We were both fighters, in a war."

"You broke her neck!"

"Yes, she had just tried to kill me, and my comrades. She did kill two other men of her own country. I nearly died in the field hospital from my wound. That was war, my love, that was death."

Jane grabbed her running clothes off the floor, struggling with them as she tried to get dressed, her eyes wide, her breathing strained. She finally threw them on, and laced up her joggers, breathing fast, before she ran out the door. Dimitri called out to her, but she didn't stop.

Her feet pounding the pavement was all she remembered. Peoples face's would appear and disappear in her vision. Her ragged breathing settled down, into the rhythm of the experienced long distance runner. The building fronts flashing by her barely registered, she would slow and stop for traffic, other pedestrians. Her focus was on her heartbeat, her breathing, not where she was going, and it was only when she ran out of room to run that she finally stopped, looking around her.

The Charles River flowed sullenly past her, its dull green water lapping gently at the shore. She sighed and sat down on the grass covered bank, carefully tended by the city of Boston. Traffic flowed behind her on the raised highway, its noise loud, but oddly removed. This late in the evening, she only saw a few people around her. Couples, a solitary walker or jogger, even a group of teenaged girls giggling and laughing about a movie just seen as they strolled by. Jane was briefly reminded of Daria's sister, Quinn, and her friends in that shallow "Fashion Club" back in Lawndale High.

_Did any of our dreams work out right? Sure, I'm studying art, and Daria's studying English Literature. She's doing writing, besides, a few magazine articles, and short stories. I've sold some paintings, and magazine illustrations_. _I've had some really great sex_, _meet some swell people, quite a few jerks, and a man I thought would be the love of my life. But he killed somebody! He nearly died because of a girl! A terrorist! But her country just wanted freedom, but it was still a civil war, and I just don't understand it!_

_I studied those photographs from the Civil War, all those men laying on the battlefield. Men die in wars, right? But Daria has said there were guerilla raids in that war, too, woman and children being shot and killed, acting as spies. Quantrell's Raider's, even Jessie James, were terrorists, by today's standards, she said. Damn it, Daria! Why do you have to be so smart!_

_Am I just being stupid? Dimitri was at least honest with me. He could have lied about it, glossed it over, but he didn't. I love him so much, but sometimes, I just don't understand him! Daria says it his Russian upbringing. He's so smart, but its not a book smart like Daria. He's smart because he's seen and done so much that I can barely imagine. But he's still fragile, vulnerable. He almost looked like a little boy that time he told me he had wanted to be an "cosmonaut" like his uncle Yuri._ _If any other man had told me something like that, I'd have laughed at him._

Absorbed in her own thought, it took a few minutes for Jane to become aware that somebody was standing closely by her. She carefully looked at them out of the corner of her eyes, before she sighed in relief. Daria slipped Jane's jacket over her friend's shoulders and sat down on the grass nest to her. She was wearing a light green pullover sweater, and black stretch pants. Her usual black Doc Marten's still covered her small feet. Daria's auburn hair was windblown, not quite it's normally patterned shape. The two young women sat there in a quiet solitude, with the rest of the city of Boston held at arms length.

"We were worried about you," Daria said simply.

"We?"

"Dimitri came right to me. He told me that he had upset you, and you had gone running to clear your head. He's home right now, at your apartment. I, I made him promise not to come looking for you. But, if we have to, we can stay at a motel tonight, if you want to."

"Daria, its nothing like that. I'm not afraid of him. He just told me something about himself that shocked me, that's all."

Daria raised her eyebrows.

"He's married?"

Jane sighed.

"No, he killed a girl. She had tried to kill him, but still ... "

Jane started beating her fists against the grass on either side of her, while tears washed down her face, faster and faster. Daria gaped at her for a moment, before she slid closer to her, and wrapped her arms around her friends shaking body. It was awkward, as Jane was taller then Daria was, but Jane finally buried her face in Daria's hair and started crying, deep racking sobs that shook them both. Daria just sat there, holding her tightly. Jane's tears soaked her hair and sweater, but Daria just held on, stroking Jane's black hair.

After a long time, Jane finally sat up and pulled away, still shaking. Daria handed her a wad of facial tissue, and Jane wiped her face off and dried her eyes.

"Thanks, Daria. You were good at that."

"For all my griping about my folks, at least they were always there for me. Sometimes, you just need somebody to hold you, and wipe away the tears," Daria said, her own eyes misty.

"It looks like your glasses are getting foggy, though."

"Its this damn Boston humidity."

"Okay, if you say so."

After another long silence, Daria asked, "Jane, I know its none of my business, but how did this whole subject come up, anyway?"

"Dimitri has a scar on his chest, under his heart, and I asked him about it. He got it during the war in that place in Russia."

"Chechnya?"

'Yeah."

"Jane, that's a war, and he was a soldier. Soldiers have to kill people sometimes."

"Daria, she was a girl, a girl with a bomb! He dropped his guard to give her something to eat, and she threw a bomb at him, and stabbed him!"

"Jane, listen to me. I don't like Dimitri at all. But at least, he seems to be honest with you. I think he is in love with you, but its a scary thing. He's like one of those white tigers from Siberia, with those cold green eyes. I'm afraid of him. I've been jealous of the time you've spent together. I've missed you, even though I know that this was going to happen sooner or later."

Jane sighed, her tears coming back.

"Like Tom."

Daria echoed her sigh.

"Yes."

"Daria, I'm not afraid of him."

"I know you're not, Jane. You two are really in love with each other. I'm just afraid of what else he might be hiding. I, I really don't think he would let anything happen to you, if he could avoid it, but, things might get out of his control. You know life is like that."

"What are you trying to tell me, Daria?"

"Jane, he might be in the Russian Mob."

"What! He's studying computer technology, with a minor in Art!"

"Jane, a lot of people who were in the Russian military had to turn to crime because they lost their jobs. I know you love him, but ... "

"Damn it, Daria! Drop it! Just drop it!"

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry! I worry about you too, you know!"

Jane's anger fled as quickly as it flared up, and she slumped down on the grass, staring up at the overcast sky.

"I'm sorry, Daria. I know you mean well."

"Jane, I, I just want to say, well, ah, damn."

"Thanks for the coat, its getting cold."

"Least I could do."

After a long minute, staring out over the river, Jane chuckled.

"Hey, Daria?"

"Yes?"

"What kind of a couple do you think **_we_ **would have made?"

"What brings on this interest in alternate lifestyles? Are you coming out of the closet?"

"No, its just that, well, you know, there used to be all those whispers about us, back at old Lawndale High."

"Oh, yes, I remember. Courtesy of Sandi Griffin, no doubt."

"Well, if we had both been gay, do you think it would have worked out? Would we still have been friends?"

"I really don't know, Jane. Its not like I have all that much experience in relationships. I read a lot, and I observe the people around me. You and I, we fit together, but we still make mistakes with each other. Some married people are close friends with their significant others, some aren't, but they still get along."

"Well, at least we'd be together a lot more then we have been, lately."

"Jane, you know I have a lot of issues with intimacy, even now. It might have worked out, but maybe not. You've always had a strong interest in men. I've known that from that first party at Brittany's. Myself, I've never really been sure about a lot of things. I do know that I love you, as a friend.."

"I know you are, amiga, and I know I'm just avoiding the real question. Damn it, I do love Dimitri. Though it would have made everything simpler if the two of us had, er ..."

Daria's face had flushed a bright red at that moment, and Jane cut herself off, fast. Then Daria cleared her throat.

"It's nice of you to say that, Jane, but it wouldn't have worked out for a couple of reasons."

"Oh? You've thought about this, then?"

"You know, my threat to bury you in that bridesmaids dress I was forced to wear can still be used here."

"Gotcha. Please continue with your reasoning."

"Well, besides your rampant heterosexuality ... "

"Doesn't rampant mean ... ?"

"Ha, ha. A college education has done wonders for your vocabulary, my freaking friend. There's also the fact that its hard for me to study in your natural, Lane habitat. The average noise level alone would drive me crazy. Casual reading, yes. Serious study, no. Besides, there is another reason, which will make me seem petty, but, what can I say?"

Jane leaned back and grinned, relaxed in spite of herself, enjoying the banter.

"You? Petty?"

Daria's face assumed its most expressionless cast. She leaned over and whispered into Jane's ear, and Jane, intrigued, leaned in toward her to listen.

"Yes, me. I'm just afraid I prefer my partners to have bigger endowments than you have, Jane."

"Endowments? What are you talking about ... HEY!"

Jane's mouth dropped open and she stared at Daria. Daria stood up and brushed the grass off her pants.

"Why do you think I got along so well with Brittany?"

Daria bent over and pushed Jane's mouth shut. Jane snapped out of her shock.

"Daria? Are you trying to tell me ... ?"

"Don't ask." Her face assumed its Mona Lisa cast, with that quiet smile."Don't tell."


	11. Chapter 11

Quinn listened in horror at her bedroom door. Tom was moaning in his deep voice, as he seldom did when he was with her. "Ah, yes, yes, that's it, that's it, you're doing it just right!"

Quinn slammed the bedroom door wide open, but her screams of outrage choked in her throat. Underneath Tom's tanned, toned body, his sister, Elsie grinned up at her and laughed.

"Don't be jealous Quinn, join us!"

Quinn's shriek echoed in the dark paneled room. She screamed again as Tom sleepily sat up in bed, reaching out for her. He checked his instinctive grasp for her as she scrambled out of the bed, staring back at him in horror. He sat still, staring sadly at her as she struggled to wake out of the nightmare. Another alcohol-fueled nightmare of Tom's betraying her. She huddled in the middle of the floor, shivering in her fear and shame.

_Dammit, dammit, dammit! Ever since I saw Elsie kiss Tom like that, I've been terrified that it's true! But that's crazy! Isn't it? Isn't it? It was just a trick, a nasty, dirty, little trick!_

But Quinn's insecurity bubbled and boiled under the surface of her mind, whispering into her ear until she was nearly crazy. Every word or gesture exchanged between Tom and Elsie seemed to have a hidden meaning. Elsie had become so sweetly nice, always asking about how Quinn felt, inviting her to go shopping with her. Angier Sloane had been totally taken in by his daughter's act, though Katherine, her mother was still somewhat suspicious. Tom was so relieved that they seemed to be getting along now, that Quinn had dreaded bringing up her surely paranoid suspicions to him.

Quinn had fallen far from the confident young woman she had been in high school and college. The steady blows to her family and marriage had shaken her to the core. Her parents were overwhelmed with both her and Daria's problem's, and she knew their own marriage was rocky now. Daria was gone and out of touch. Sandi seemed to be on a personal crusade to destroy her and her family. Stacy was struggling with personal problems of her own to the extent that they had to cancel their last few meetings. Nobody seemed to know what had happened to Tiffany. The slim Vietnamese girl had dropped out of sight. The old days at Lawndale High when they had been the Fashion Club seemed almost Paradise, now.

She was finding that she missed Daria more than she had ever imagined. Sure, they had fought like cats and dogs, but now she had realized that had been a normal part of growing up, between two very headstrong sisters. She winced now at all the things she had done to keep them apart, while still aware of all the things Daria had done, too. She remembered the stupidity of pretending that Daria wasn't even her sister, a secret nobody had fallen for, not even Tiffany. The student teacher episode still haunted her, Daria's bald, emotionless statement to her.

"Hey, why should you go out of your way to protect the stupid? You're not one of them!"

Quinn had just stood there, staring at her sister in shock. Daria didn't think she was stupid? Really? What kind of a trick was she trying to pull on her now? Quinn tottered with the realization that maybe she really wasn't, that Daria was reaching out to her for just a second. She trembled on the edge of . . . what? She screamed at her and ran out of the room.

"I... I... you don't understand anything!"

But Daria had. Quinn had passed the test, and things hadn't been so bad at home after that. Daria had started to call her "sis," at least at home, and it had given her a warm feeling inside. Granted, Daria had pulled that last stunt of her speech at graduation, and Quinn, almost in token of her sister's last hurrah at Lawndale High, had purposely brought a cap and sunglasses. Her blue eyes had been twinkling at Daria's speech, though, and keeping a straight face had been really hard.

"Um . . . thank you. I'm not much for public speaking, or much for speaking, or, come to think of it, much for the public. And I'm not very good at lying. So let me just say that, in my experience, high school sucks. If I had to do it all over again, I'd have started advanced placement classes in preschool so I could go from eighth grade straight to college."

(in the stands, Helen and Jake are stricken; Quinn dons sunglasses and a

baseball cap)

"However, given the unalterable fact that high school sucks, I'd like to add that if you're lucky enough to have a good friend and a family that cares, it doesn't have to suck quite as much.

(cut to first Jane, then to Helen and Jake, all of whom smile at Daria's

words)

"Otherwise, my advice is: stand firm for what you believe in, until and unless logic and experience prove you wrong; remember, when the emperor looks naked, the emperor is naked; the truth and a lie are not "sort of the same thing"; and there's no aspect, no facet, no moment of

life that can't be improved with pizza. Thank you. "

(claps and cheers from the audience as Daria exits podium; in the stands, Helen and Jake clap as well, and, after looking around, so does Quinn)

"Do you know what I'm doing now, big sister? Do you give a damn what's happening to me anymore? I'm sure screwed up these days. I'm on the cover of all those magazines I used to read as a fashion "don't." I'm just another screwed up drunk rich drunk chick, surrounded by people snapping away with their camera's, hoping to see a nipple sneak out of my dress. I'm famous now! See Quinn Sloane, staggering in public again! See the gold digging, middle class slut marry above her!"

She didn't realize she had spoken aloud until she felt Tom's strong arms surrounding her. She flinched, but then slowly relaxed against him. Neither one of them said anything. They just knelt there. Quinn's bloodshot eyes closed, though tears still ran down her face. Tom just stared down at the top of her head, listening as her breathing slowed down, her slight body relaxing. After a long time, he gently picked her up and carried her back to their canopied bed. He carefully tucked her under the covers. Brushing her hair back from her face, bought a smile from her, and she snuggled against him as he slid into bed behind her. They both just lay there quietly, feeling the heat of each other's body, until they both drifted off to sleep.

Early the next morning Tom woke up first, as usual. Asleep, the cloud of insecurity and confusion that hung over Quinn was absent, and he just laid there, staring at her delicate features, at the beautiful, intelligent young woman he had fallen in love with. Even so, the shadows around her eyes told their own stories of too many sleepless nights. Tom sighed deeply, and carefully tucking the covers around her, then slipped quietly out of bed. Shaving, showering and dressing for the day took his mind away from their problems. Quinn was still asleep when he quietly let himself out of the room, not wanting to disturb her.

To his surprise, his Fathers business partners, John Grace, and Harold Page, were were sitting in off in a corner of the doning room, talking intently with his father, Angier. His father looked out, saw Tom, and beckoned him over.

"Tom, have a seat, this meeting does concern you, after all."

Tom's heart sank as he sat into the soft easy chair.

"Dad?"

"Tom, as you know, though Grace, Sloane and Page is privately owned and operated, public opinion does affect us, as it affect any company. Profits have gone down considerably, and ... "

"What your father is tactfully trying to say is we are going broke." John Grace said. The heavyset man with the thick white mustache stared at Tom impassively, for a long minute, then sighed.

"Tom, your private life is your own business, and all of us here respect that. But with all this current scrutiny of C.E.O.'s by the media, any hint of scandal, no matter how insignificant, is played up into headline news. Now, when people think of Grace, Sloane, and Page, they see your poor wife, and her drinking problems. We've become news, but in the celebrity gossip column."

"Quinn's been under a lot of pressure, her parent's are having problem's, her sisters in Witness Protection, and that Griffin woman won't stop writing about her!"

Harold Page broke in. The tall, thin man fumbled nervously for a second with his coffee, then put it down on the floor.

"Tom, we know that, nobody here is blaming her. But these days, the public see's your Quinn, when they think of our company. They want their stockbrokers to be calm and dignified, even boring. After all, they are trusting their money with us."

"But Quinn has nothing to do with the operation of the company!"

The public doesn't see that! They see an out of control, hysterical young woman married to the son of one of the founding member's of the company. Of course they think it's going to affect any business dealings. "

"This is insane! I'm not going to let you talk about Quinn like this! Quinn is none of your business!"

His father stood up, walking over to Tom.

"Tom, please! Quinn needs help, you know that! Her alcoholism is out of control! And whether we like it or not, all of us are public figures! Quinn has to not only get help, but be seen getting help! Do you really want to see her drink herself to death? Never mind about our company image. I didn't want to bring this up this way at all."

Katherine walked in, and hearing the shouting, walked quickly over to where Tom stood with clenched fists, laying a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Gentlemen, that's enough! I realize that business conditions have been bad for the whole country lately, but surely Quinn's public exposure can't be hurting the company that badly."

"No, it's just part of the whole thing. " Harold Page broke in grimly. "But, as far as the public is concerned, where there's smoke, there's fire. With all these investigations, and allegations we're losing clients like a drowning dog loses fleas."

Tom spun on his heels, staring almost blindly at his mother, his eyes blinking rapidly. Katherine gently hugged her son, then let him go.

"Tom, I know this wasn't brought up as tactfully as it might have been. But Quinn does need help, you of all people know that. Not just for the business sake, but for hers. She's a very sweet, very intelligent young woman, and you know how much your father and I love her. But the problem's she's been facing since your marriage would have crushed almost anybody. Getting help doesn't mean she's weak or crazy, it just means she needs help."

"Elsie will just love this."

"Is your sister still tormenting Quinn? I thought she had stopped that, after the last time I had grounded her!. What's that young woman doing now?"

Tom ran his fingers roughly through his hair, though he felt more like pulling it out.

"I don't know, Mom. Elsie is sweet as sugar around me, and Quinn won't tell me her problems anymore. I have never in my life thought I'd see her so beaten down!"

Katherine wisely said nothing. Getting married to Quinn after dating her sister Daria had been a mistake, she had thought. But Tom loved her so much, and Quinn in turn had been so bubbly and vivacious, she had supported their decision. Angier had been no problem at all.He had fallen in love with Quinn on the spot. Especially after the parade of girls Tom had been dating before, most of whom who it seemed only came downstairs to raid the kitchen.

Katherine was still baffled by Elsie's outright hate of Quinn. She had barely even noticed Tom's other girlfriends, and paid Daria little attention. But she had hated Quinn, with a barely disguised malice. And no amount of talking, counseling, or even the occasional punishment had made any difference in her attitude. Quinn had been gracious at first, then wary of her sister in law. But Elsie's attitude had never really softened.

"Why," Katherine thought to herself, startled. "Elsie seemed to act more like a jilted lover, than a stuck up little sister!"

But that was insane! True, Elsie and Tom had been close , at least before he had started dating.

From the start, he had refused to flaunt his parents wealth, dressing down, driving old cars. She and Angier had been glad to not see him putting on airs, like Elsie so often did, but she really wished he hadn't cruised some of the out and out dives he had, like that "Zon."

And then he met Daria.

Her intelligence had been obvious from the first, as well as her almost complete lack of social skills. Daria and Tom had many things in common, but their relationship had been shaky from the start. Daria had felt so guilty over the fact that she had "cheated" on Jane she had never been comfortable with Tom.. She had blamed her son, as well as Daria. Tom had been so laid back he often either didn't catch the right signals from Daria. Katherine had tried her hardest, but been relieved when Daria had broken things off, and gone to a different school.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elsie Sloane hummed happily as she walked up the hallway that morning. She slowed down as she entered the dining room, seeing her parents and brother seemingly arguing with her fathers business partners. The acoustic's were quite good in the large, wood paneled room, and Elsie was quite easily able to hear the heated words. So her brother's white trash wife was destroying the company? Gee, what a surprise! Daria had been pure poison, and her sister was even worse. She would teach that cheap tramp that she couldn't use her marriage to destroy the Sloanes, steal everything, and take away her brother! Tom was hers, and no cheap, strawberry blonde slut from a public school was going to stop that!

Tom was looking so miserable, so under fire, that Elsie couldn't resist walking over to his chair, and giving him a big hug. The group froze, everybody staring at her. Tom gaped up at her, before he gave her a weak smile.

"What? In spite of everything, I can't feel sorry for my poor brother? Family sticks together, after all. Remember that Danish saying You taught me, dad? Bare is brother less back.."

"Why, that is very sweet of you, Elsie." Katherine said, not wanting her to join in the conversation with her hateful words about Quinn. Elsie had a glint in her eye as she let her brother go, but Katherine didn't want to set her off on another fight, if Elsie wasn't going to bring it up herself. Elsie walked away from the quiet group, only hearing the talking start up as she closed the door.

Here was another chance to crash into Quinn's already fragile ego. She had quieted down lately, careful not to fight with Quinn in front of family or witnesses. She would mention it to her, sounding every so concerned. Quinn had never been really sure about Elsies motives, taking her anger as resentment for taking Tom away.

The door was ajar to Tom and Quinn's bedroom and Elsie risked a quick peek inside. Quinn was sound asleep, her long hair strewn across the pillow like a halo of fire. Knowing that Quinn had drunken heavily the night before, Elsie calmly walked into the room and looked down on her. The dark circles under her eyes, the blotched and reddened face, all spoke a tale of how far she had fallen. Hearing Quinn's light, rapid, breathing gave Elsie an insane impulse, an urge to grab a pillow, force it down over Quinn's face, watch her life fade away.

But Elsie was an intelligent girl. She knew how easy it would be to be caught at that. She had a healthy respect for modern forensic science., born of intense study. Study born out of her hatred for Quinn. She wanted her dead and gone, but had no intention of spending the rest of her own life in prison.

Quinn stirred slightly, murmuring softly, "Tom?" One small hand reached out blindly, searching, it's tattered nails bitten down to the quick. Her sheer helpless misery reached out and touched Elsie, just for a second. She saw herself, as a little girl, reaching up to her brother.

"Tom! Stop teasing me! Pick me up so I can see, too!" And a smiling Tom had picked her up, setting her on his shoulders, as she stared in excitement at the passing parade. His strong hands had held her securely, safely as she had bounced up and down.

She stared down at Quinn, lost in her own happy memories, one hand reaching out to touch Quinn lightly on the face. She remembered how much she had idolized her big brother, and a sad smile appeared on her face. Quinn's face broke out in a smile, too, until she opened her eyes, and saw who it was standing over her. They both froze, staring at each other for a long moment.

The moment passed.

"Elsie! What the hell do you think you're doing in here?" Quinn struggled out from under the covers, with a snarl.

Elsie stepped away from her with a snarl of her own.

"I was just worried about you, but I don't know why! What kind of booze did you pour down your gut last night, you pathetic, white trash loser?"

"You rotten, stuck up, freaking little spoiled brat! You've been on my back ever since I married Tom! You think you're so smart! But I know damn well you're the one whose been leaking everything to those horrible magazines!"

"Really?" Elsie purred. "Why, I've never been in Highland, Texas, in my life. Wasn't that where you learned the facts of life? In the back seat of a car?"

"Dammit, I was only fourteen! We were leaving town, and I thought I was in love with him!"

"Like you thought you were in love with all those boys in Lawndale? You're just a gold digging tramp! Remember your famous quote?" _If he does want to go steady he's got to do a lot better than movie, burger, back seat, movie, burger, back seat, because there are plenty of guys with bigger back seats waiting to take her someplace nice_! "

Quinn wilted at her own words quoted back to her, from Sandi's hateful book. Elsie pressed her attack.

"Tom ought to just give you a bus ticket out of town, and twenty bucks! Isn't that the going rate for your type of services?"

All of Quinn's pain and frustration, of her marriage problems, of her parents, Daria, and of her unending public humiliation rose in her and she stepped forward, hands raised. But then her abused stomach gave its familiar churning grumble. She turned to run to the bathroom, but it was too late. She fell to her knees, as she began vomiting uncontrollably, weeping at the same time. She tried to struggle erect, but slipped on the wet floor and fell on her back. Her hands beat helplessly on the floor, her choking gasps for air weaker and weaker. Quinn's eyes widened in terror as she fought for the air that couldn't enter her stopped up throat.

Elsie's smile slowly faded away, as she stared down. Quinn's thoughts raced insanely.

"No! I can't die! Not like this!"

Her hands clawed at her throat, as she fought for her life. An oddly familiar roaring sound filled her head. The room faded away, as white gulls wheeled overhead. The white sand was hot under her stylish pink beach towel, which she posed on, in her stylish one piece swim suit. A pink beach umbrella shaded her delicate skin. Nearby, Daria, in an ugly green swimsuit, wearing a broad brimmed hat to protect her from the sun, was trying to build a sand castle. Quinn was bored. There wasn't anybody else on the beach to play with, and mom and dad were swimming, after telling a reluctant Daria to keep an eye on her sister.

Pouting, she picked up a seashell, only to shriek as the angry hermit crab inside nipped at her fingers. Daria dropped her plastic bucket and pail, running over to the screaming Quinn.

"Daria! Daria! He bit me! He poisoned me! I'm going to die! I'm going to get all sick!"

"No, Quinn, no! He just pinched you! You scared him, when you picked up his house. Crabs aren't poisonous, he just pinched you, that's all. I know it hurts, but that's all."

Quinn's sobbing slowly faded away as she stared at her sister.

"His, his house? Crabs live in seashells? You're fibbing again, and I'm going to tell mom!"

"No, see?" Daria said, as she pointed at the hermit crab scuttling away across the beach. "That little crab wears a shell, just like you wear a coat."

"Really?" Quinn said, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Really. Now, let me show you something else." Daria picked up another shell, and after carefully shaking it out, held it up to her ear.

"Daria!"

"It's okay, I'm just listening."

"What are you listening to? Isn't it empty?"

"Mom says its the ocean. Here, you listen."

Quinn hesitantly took the shell, and somewhat nervously held it up to her ear. Her eyes widened, and she laughed.

"Daria, you're so smart!"

Her sister shrugged, then smiled.

"I like to read. "

Quinn smiled back, still listening to her magic shell. The roaring grew louder. Daria's hand grasped hers, and led her back to the beach towel. Mom and dad stumbled out of the surf, laughing. The ocean's roar picked Quinn up off the sand, and she soared away into the clear blue sky, Daria's hand firmly holding hers.

PS (There is a picture of a young Quinn and Daria at the beach, on page 49 of the Daria Database, on the refrigerator.)


	12. Chapter 12

The big silver Mercedes pulled up into the driveway of the two story red brick home, known to some as "Schloss Morgendorffer." Eric Schrecter turned and looked at his silent companion.

"Helen, are you sure you want to stay here tonight, alone? I can put you up at a motel, or friends house, until your husband or one of your sisters get here."

_How sweet,_ she thought dully to herself. _Is he actually worried about me as a person, and not as a worker and occasional sex partner?_

Aloud, she said. "No, really Eric, that's all right. Mother is too sick to travel, Amy's on vacation in Mexico, and I'm not talking to Rita anymore, period. Jake's coming in tonight on the red eye, from wherever he was when I called him. I'll be all right."

"Are you sure, Helen?" he said quietly, laying a hand on hers. She pulled her own hand away.

"Go home, Eric, go home."

She opened the door and slid off the seat, not looking back at him. The comfort of the familiar sight soothed her, for a precious minute. Slowly, almost painfully, she walked around the front of the still running car, aware that Eric was staring at her as she trudged to the front door. The timer had turned the house and yard lights on, and she could almost feel that there was somebody waiting for her. She fumbled in her purse for her door key, staring blankly at it, before she sighed and used it to open the lock and deadbolt, then quickly stepped inside, hearing the locks click into place, locking her inside. Eric's car lights briefly lit up the outside, as he backed out of the drive and pulled away. For the first time since she had arrived at the office early that morning, she was alone.

She sighed deeply, and flipped on the foyer light. The big mirror by the front door captured her image, and she stared at herself. Shouldn't she look different, after all that happened today? She was wearing her dark red power suit, with dark red pumps. Her face was pale, without her normally carefully applied makeup. Crows feet, laugh lines. Who had named those imperfections on a woman's face that? The bruise on her left cheek surprised her, and she touched it carefully. When had she gotten that? Her hair was disordered, brushed back roughly. She stared bleakly at herself, her bloodshot eyes in her reflection stared mutely back.

Her eyes flickered toward the family picture, taken the day they had first moved into their new home. Jake stood there, his right hand on the "For Sale" sign, with the big "Sold" sticker announcing its sale. His left hand had held her own tightly, and they were both smiling. Daria looked away from her family, in the heavy boots, black pleated skirt, and green jacket she had worn like a uniform the entire time she spent in Lawndale. Her face was at it's most impassive, as if to show any emotion at all was punishable. Quinn stood apart from them, slightly blocking both her mother and sister, a slight pout on her face.

Helen stared at her youngest daughter's image. Quinn at that time had been vain, conceited and manipulative. She had twisted her father and most other males around her little finger. She had skirted if not broken every rule Helen had laid down. She had fought with her sister at every turn. But still, Daria and Quinn had finally reached an understanding with each other. She had raised her grades, learned to study, made friends, gone to college, applied herself fiercely. She had fallen in love. She had gotten married.

And all that had added up to was a pale limp figure covered with a sheet on a hospital gurney.

Helen shuddered, tore her eyes away from the picture. Staring at the carpet, avoiding the other family pictures, she almost ran into the safety of the kitchen. No family pictures in there, just homey little plaques with chickens and cows. Reaching for the refrigerator door she froze, trapped again.

Quinn smiled back at her.

A picture from a close to forgotten family trip. Quinn sat posing on a beach towel. Pink, of course. Strawberry blonde hair, pink skin, a pink swimsuit with the inevitable yellow Smiley face on it, under a pink beach umbrella. All flowing together in a portrait of almost unbearable cuteness.

As usual, Daria sat apart from her sister. Resting her feet on the beach towel to protect them from the hot sand, Daria stared sullenly at the camera. Her pale skin was smeared liberally with suntan lotion, her face protected by a huge floppy hat. She was wearing a rather drab green swimsuit.

A plastic bucket and pail rested next to her, almost as if to remind the viewer that these two were still little girls.

Helen reached out for it gently, pulling it out from under the refrigerator magnet it had been stuck under all these years. She turned and walked to the kitchen table, sitting down, still staring at the picture held in her shaking hands. Daria and Quinn. Her and Jake's daughters, together.

Like they never would be again.

She had desperately tried to call Daria, only to get vague assurances from the US Marshall's Dept. office that they would contact her as soon as possible. She hoped that Daria had somebody, anybody, friend or lover, to help her now. She seldom prayed, but she had prayed that Daria wouldn't hear the news alone, from a TV or radio.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helen looked irritably at her secretary as she knocked on the door and entered her office. She hadn't been answering any of the flashing lights on her deck phone.

"Marianne, what is it! I told you to take messages from everyone today. I'm very busy with this copyright infringement case, and if you can't do as you're told . . . "

To Helen's surprise, Marianne stood her ground, almost in tears.

"Mrs. Morgendorffer, Helen, that was Kate Sloane. They had to call an ambulance for Quinn. They wanted you to meet them at the hospital. She, she said, Quinn isn't breathing."

Helen felt a sharp pain deep inside her. She stumbled, and grabbed at the corner of her desk to stay upright. Her head swam, and the room spun around her. She gritted her teeth forcing herself to focus. She brushed away her secretaries fluttering hands.

"No, No, I'm all right. It's probably nothing. Please finish up my correspondence. Inform Eric I won't be able to attend the Lawndale Businesswoman's Luncheon this afternoon."

"Aren't you worried about your daughter?"

"She's my daughter, not yours!" Helen practically shouted, then relented. "I'm sorry about that, Marianne. Things have been rather rough for our family, as you well know, and, well, I'm sure that she's getting the best of medical care. I'm mostly going down there to hold her hand."

The rising shrillness in her voice put the lie to Helen's words. Marianne only nodded as Helen grabbed her purse and rushed out the door. Marianne looked down at the top of Helen's desk. Her laptop lay there open, the cursor still blinking at the bottom of a page of text. Several files laid there, scattered around. In the eight years she had worked there, she had never seen Helen leave her work out like that. Hesitantly, she sat down at Helen's desk, and peering at the computer screen, slowly started to type.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Helen's big red SUV screamed to a stop in the hospital parking lot, her tires smoking. Grabbing her purse off the Suburban's floor, without wondering how it had gotten down there, she hurried across the hospital parking lot. It was already crowded with TV news vans. As she pushed her way through the mob of people milling around the hospital entrance, someone shouted, "It's the Sloane girl's mother!" Helen was suddenly blinded by the mass of camera light's and exploding flashbulbs going off, all at once. It spite of her near hysteria, she stopped, stunned. The reporters and photographers engulfed her.

"Mrs. Morgendorffer! Are you planning legal action against the Sloane's!" "Are her injuries the result of a Russian mob hit!" "What are her injuries? Did she have a miscarriage!" "Will this bring her sister out of hiding!" "Do you blame Daria for her sisters alcoholism!" Is it true you and your husband have separated? Are you planning a divorce!"

Helen bit her lips so hard they bled, providing an unique photo-op for the press, and grimly forced her way through, knowing that if she said anything at all, the crowd would get worse. The thoughts of Quinn dying before she saw her, trapped out here in the parking lot, added muscle to her forceful pushing. Luckily, the hospital had security guards standing by at the hospital entrance, and they alertly grabbed at her, letting her in, while still keeping out the mob. To her surprise, Dr. Phillips, the doctor that had taken care of Daria before, was also there.

"This way, Mr. Morgendorffer, Quinn's in the Intensive Care Unit. The hospital knew I had dealt with your family before, so they had me out here, watching for you."

To her surprise, instead of going further into the hospital, Dr. Phillips steered her into a waiting room, already crowded. Helen's heart sank as she saw Tom sitting at the far end, sobbing, his face buried in his hands, while his mother and father knelt beside him. His sister Elsie sat a short distance away, white faced, while his fathers business partners, John Grace, and Harold Page stood nearby, their faces grim, but still sympathetic to the Sloane's. Helen felt her heart slam violently in her own chest. Time slowed, everybody turning to stare at her. Her blood roared though her veins. Helen's cold words, quietly spoken, ripped though the room like a thunderclap.

"You were supposed to take care of her. "Bonded together, in holy matrimony." Remember? Why the hell didn't you take care of my baby?"

All eyes were on Helen, and nobody noticed Elsie cringed, like a hot knife had stabbed through her. Tom slowly stood up, his parents falling back, not sure what he was going to do. His hands limp at his side, he walked toward Helen. She stood there staring at him, feeling colder and colder, sharp pains arching through her, an emptiness so vast that she felt like she was falling forever filling her mind. She expected anything other then his simple statement.

"I just couldn't tell her no. Damn it, I could only say, stop, please, stop. I failed her. I just couldn't ever tell her, no."

And Helen had fallen into the pit, unknowing, and uncaring. .She didn't see Tom and Dr. Phillips grab her limp body, keep her from falling to the floor. She didn't see Dr. Phillip's giving her CPR, while the same EMT's that had tried to save Quinn take over from him, breathing for her. She didn't see the Lawndale Police department take over from the overwhelmed security guards. She didn't see Dr. Phillip's and Kate Sloane take over, giving a brief statement to the press, ignoring the questions and accusations, as they scurried to give their reports.

She could only wake up in the emergency room. Limp, her chest and stomach aching from the CPR. Eric was sitting besides her, holding her hand, with an almost endearing confused expression on his face. She wondered why, then realized, simply, it reminded her of Jake.

"Quinn?"

"I'm sorry, Helen, she's gone."

Helen could feel the empty pit inside her, dragging her down, trying to pull her in again. It would be so easy to let go. Why should she stay, now, anyway? Who really needed her anymore, anyway? Daria hated her, Jake could find somebody else, and Quinn was, was ...

Quinn was dead.

Tears rolled down her face, but she forced herself erect. She was only wearing one of those hospital gowns. She snapped, "Where are my clothes?"

"I'm sorry Helen, you had a mild heart attack, and they, they... "

"Eric! Listen to me! I want my clothes back, now. Then, I want to see my baby, heart attack, or no heart attack. Because, if I don't, I'll take apart this entire hospital, one brick at a time, until I do."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The ice cold steel in Helen's voice cut through every bodies arguments, and Helen, much against Dr. Phillips advice and protests, got her way. Still, he insisted on her being taken in a wheelchair to the Medical Examiners Office, where Quinn's body had already been taken. It was in a separate branch of the Cedars of Lawndale hospital complex. She stood up, and tottered to the viewing window.

The rough cotton sheet had been pulled down to just below her shoulders. The cold light shone down on her. The strawberry blonde hair was startling in it's richness, against her white skin. Helen remembered her skin always as a vivid pink. She remembered her squirming around after a bath, never wanting to leave the bassinet. She locked the memory away, and quietly asked.

"How did she die?"

"According to the preliminary tests, she slipped and fell in her bedroom. There is bruising on the back of her head. She, she vomited, and was unable to clear her throat enough to breathe."

Helen murmured quietly, so softly that Dr. Phillips had to strain to hear her.

"Just like Jimi Hendrix, doctor?"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Past your time, isn't it? My poor baby, so elegant, so beautiful. Dying like a drunk on a barroom floor. I wasn't there for her. I was working. Her husband was having breakfast. Her father wasn't there, her sister wasn't there. Nobody was there at all. Quinn died alone."

The lack of emotion in Helen's voice shook the doctor more then if she had screamed or raged.

"As far as is known now, yes."

"And the state insists on an autopsy, doesn't it? Are you going to do it, doctor? Are you the man who's going to slice my babies skin open, cut her apart, even though you already know why she's dead?"

Dr. Phillips was suddenly keenly aware why this woman was one of the top corporate attorneys in Maryland. His voice shook as he answered.

"No, I'm not a Medical Examiner, Mrs. Morgendorffer. I'm just a General Practitioner."

"Of course, doctor, of course."

She staggered back to the wheelchair, and sat down, staring at the window.

"I want to go home, now. I don't want to spend the night here. I know what you're going to say, but I really insist. Eric can drive me."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- And now she was home. Helen carefully laid down the picture on the table. That was all she had now. Pieces of paper and film. She had done to Quinn's room what she had done to Daria's after she had moved out. It was just a generic bedroom, all pastels and dark wood paneling, now. No different then a thousand motel bedrooms across the country. She had stripped it of every sense that an individual person had once lived here. Quinn and Daria only existed in the abstract. She slowly walked up the stairs to Quinn's old room. Sitting down on the bed, she clicked on the radio sitting next to the bed, a cheap little clock radio. She fiddled across a dozen station until she stopped at one, startled.

"I know that this has been a really bad day, for a lot of people in Lawndale. I just want to express my sympathy, without expressing any opinions on who did what. But, to everybody who's been hurting today, I'm dedicating this song. Its a really old one, done by the Beatles. John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote it, and well, hell, I think it fits here."

Helen froze as the soft words poured over her.

"Once there was a way to get back homeward

Once there was a way to get back home

Sleep pretty darling do not cry

And I will sing a lullaby."

"Golden slumbers fill your eyes

Smiles awake you when you rise

Sleep pretty darling do not cry

And I will sing a lullaby."

"Once there was a way to get back homeward

Once there was a way to get back home

Sleep pretty darling do not cry

And I will sing a lullaby."

The tears that hadn't poured out of Helen that entire day did so now. Deep, racking sobs poured out of her, and she cried. She cried for herself. She cried for Daria, and Jake. She cried for Tom, and she cried for her Quinn, asleep now, forever, wrapped in her own eternal, golden slumber.

And finally, as the sun rose, she mercifully cried herself to asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

.Sandi sat numbly in the psychiatrist's office. She was wearing faded blue jeans and a grey sweatshirt, both much too large. She seldom raised her eyes off the floor. Her psychiatrist sighed.

"Sandi?"

"Ye-es?"

"Sandi, I understand you've been misusing your prescription. Your parent's are very worried about you. Your mother said she's had to lock up your pills."

"Um, ahh, the pills aren't strong enough. I can't sleep."

"I also understand you've been having night terrors, waking up screaming and fighting anybody who enters your room. Your mother had quite a bruise."

"I, I'm sorry about that. I only remember waking up."

Sandi shriveled even more. The one last night had been horrible. She had woken up in her mother's arms from a nightmare. Linda's face had been scratched badly. Tears ran down her mother's face, and she held her daughter closely. Her father had stood at the foot of her bed, wanting to help, but knowing Sandi exploded into hysteria if he touched her in her sleep. Her two bratty brothers stared in through the doorway, their face's white, drawn.

"Your mother says you won't leave your motel room alone anymore, and when you do, you wear only some old clothes of your father's."

"I really don't want to be noticed. Not anymore."

"Sandi, you know this wasn't your fault."

Sandi continued staring at the carpet. She spoke in a monotone voice.

"Yes it was. I always wanted to be noticed, and they really noticed me, didn't they? I was the star. I was the center of attention."

"It wasn't your fault. You can't think that way. The people who hurt you were criminals."

"I know that. You think I'm that stupid? "Rape isn't about sex, it's about power." I got punched in the stomach, shoved into somebodies filthy car trunk. I was too scared to even scream. I could just hear them laughing. It took, like forever. I was so cramped and bruised when they opened the trunk, they, uh, they . . . "

Sandi stopped talking. Her hands rubbed constantly against her pants legs, the long thin fingers clenching and unclenching. The psychiatrist noted that her fingernails were also gone, bitten to the quick.

"Your mother has also told me you've been scrubbing yourself so hard in the shower you've been bleeding."

"I, I just don't feel clean anymore, that's all. Surely you can understand that."

"Did you try what we talked about at our last meeting?"

"No! I can't tell them about this! Tiffany will just give me that blank look. Stacy will go into hysterics, and Quinn will spread it all over school! I won't be fashionable anymore!"

"Are you sure about that? I thought you said Quinn was your best friend?"

"Well, she is! She's the only ne who really understands me!"

"But you can't trust her?"

"That's just the way things are. As President of the Fashion Club, I have to watch out for my position, my, my dignitary, oh whatever the word is!"

"Even at the cost of trying to handle this yourself? Your mother made your father leave this morning, taking your brothers with him, on that family cruise your family had planned for this summer. She and you are spending the summer here in Baltimore, trying to keep all this hidden from your neighbor and friends."

That's because my mother does love me! She just understands how people are, how they lie about you, stab you in the back."

"Doesn't that make you lonely?"

"So you do think this was all my fault!"

"Sandi, listen to me! I don't think that at all, and none of this was your fault. Your date canceled on you at the last minute. You were too ashamed to face your friends, especially this Quinn. You decided to do some shopping out of town so they wouldn't know. That's all. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You can drive yourself crazy with what-if's."

Sandi's flare of temper died as quickly as it had come.

"Maybe I am a little crazy now."

"No, you're not. You've been hurt and humiliated. Your families attempts to find these people who hurt you all seem to have failed, and they seem to be getting away with it."

"That's not my fault! I never saw anybodies face! The guy that hit me was wearing a bandanna across his face, like a cowboy or biker or something!"

"Yes, and the Oakwood Police keeping saying there hasn't been any leads in the case."

"I think they know. I just think they're covering up for somebody."

"Sandi, you don't know that for sure. It could just be they can't find anything out."

"They were Oakwood High. I heard that one guy giving a speech about it. They even said that they were going to grab the cheerleaders, but they got me."

"Have you tried talking about this to them? They might be able to help you, or the police."

"I, I can't. I never really have anything to do with them."

"You mean, they're not in your social circle."

"Stop that! I'm president of the Fashion Club."

"Sandi, it's a high school club, with only four members in it. From what you've told me, you and this Quinn spend all your time trying to one up each other."

"What does any of this have to do with what happened to me?"

"Sandi, I'm a psychiatrist. Yes, I'm here to help you with the assault."

Sandi winced, shivering violently.

"See? You're still vulnerable to just the word."

"How would you like it? If they knew about this at school, I just know what would happen. Li would have a rape awareness class, with me as the star! Barch would be in there, going ballistic, even worse then usual. O'Neill would be sobbing and boo-hooing. Manson would have me in her office every day for the rest of my life. Even DeMartino and Morris would tiptoe around me. The guys at school would all leer at me, and the girls would all give me those glances as I walked by."

"Do you really believe it would be that bad?"

"Don't you? Didn't you go to high school? When I had to wear braces in fifth grade, everybody in school made fun of me, everybody!"

"Sandi, you have to ask for help, sometimes. People can't read your mind. Children can be very cruel, out of their own insecurity."

"Do, do you think I'm that bad, then?"

"Sandi, you are very self centered. But most people your age are. I can understand why you're afraid to talk about this. School gossip can be very bitter. As your doctor, our conversations are privileged. I won't tell anybody what you tell me."

"Not even my mom?"

"Nobody means nobody, Sandi. It's protected by law."

"But there's a way around anything, isn't there?"

"You're very young to be so bitter."

Sandi shrugged, the lightness in her voice not touching her face.

"I know a few girls in school who have had it worse then me, and I never helped them."

"Have you ever considered reaching out to them? No, I can see you haven't. Don't you trust anybody at all?"

"I trust my mother."

"Yes, you and your mother seem very close."

"Mom knows what's what. She risked her job to try to help me, but the station refused to help."

"Sandi, its hard to hide, and still get things done."

"Its bad enough those guys hurt me! Do I have to be a public figure too!"

One week later.

"Really, doctor, I don't see what the problem is, "Sandi drawled. Unlike her earlier sessions, Sandi was dressed up exquisitely, the model of teen elegance. Her hair was carefully fixed, not a strand out of place. Even her nails had received special care. Only her reddened eyes still showed her stress.

"You see? All it takes is willpower. I've just put it all behind me. I really don't care to talk about that, that unpleasantness, any longer. I'm sure my mother would like a few words with you, but for someone like myself, this is just a waste of time."

"Sandi ... "

"Miss Griffin, if you please. I find that a touch of the formal is best for this kind of setting."

"Sandi Griffin, what you are feeling now is perfectly normal. It's called denial. The victim distances themselves from the problem."

"Stop talking about me like that! I'm not going to be one or those weepy victims! And I am not that unintelligent!"

"And I know all about denial, too! I work with it every day! I pretend my friends won't stab me in the back, every chance they get! I pretend the smarter girls won't get better jobs than me! I pretend I won't have to marry for money! The hottest guy in school will never even notice me, and I have to pretend I'm okay with that! So don't think you can tell me about denial!"

"Miss Griffin, all this is normal. Everybody needs to let things out. That's why people need friends they can trust. If you can't trust the ones you have, how about making new ones?"

"My mom says friends are just people who haven't had the chance to stab you in the back."

"That's very bitter, Sandi."

"Well, she's right."

Linda looked much as Sandi had the week before.

"Doctor, what am I going to do? I know she's hurting, but she won't admit it anymore. Shes going to march back into Lawndale, ignoring anything that happened. She's so much like me, but I never thought that would be bad. This is going to kill her, what can I do?"

"Mrs. Griffin, since Sandi's rejected any help, all you can do is to keep close to her, help her when you can. I know that's not much help. Please, call me if you ever need any more help."

Sandi's life went on, falling back into the same comfortable patterns. If Sandi was cooler than before, there wasn't really anybody close enough to tell the difference. Her dates noticed that she was even more untouchable than before, and her reputation of the Ice Queen grew stronger. Still, when she fell apart after her broken leg, and Quinn pushed to help her, people were really touched by their new closeness, though a rumor floated around school that Quinn really couldn't care less, that her sister, that Daria, had made her do it, somehow. Since Daria had little to do with Sandi, most people ignored the rumor.

Quinn started to assert herself, showing off her brains, and squashing the rumor she had started of Daria not being her sister. Sandi's fumbling attempts to strike back only helped Quinn. Only her family knew about Sandi's nightmares growing in their strength. Only Linda and Sandi knew the reason why Sandi avoided overnight field trips. To Sandi, the thought of laying on the ground was horrifying. It brought back bad memories.

After the Fashion Club dissolved, after their junior year, they slowly drifted apart They were still friends. Quinn and Stacy's friendship grew stronger, and so did their grades. Stacy's new confidence made her as attractive as Quinn was. Sandi's eroding mental state was noticed only by Linda. Sandi starting spending much of her time alone. Tiffany followed Sandi, not really understanding why things were changing the way they were.

In a post graduation burst of good well, Quinn had organized a last dinner at the Chez Pierre, just the four of them. Sandi was wan, and Quinn worried a bit about her, but really believed it was just her worries about after school life. Poor Tiffany just blinked a lot, and stayed quiet. Stacy was oblivious, bubbling with excitement.

"Well, here we are, just the four of us. We'll all be going in different directions, but we've all been friends for the past four years, and, well, I'll miss all of you."

"Quinn, I'd like to thank you, especially. You've been such a great friend!. Um, not that you were all that bad, Sandi, and Tiffany."

Sandi had just sighed at Stacy's remark, but she forced a smile on her face. Stacy struggled not to rub her new confidence into Sandi's face anymore. During their senior year, especially, Sandi's enthusiasm rarely showed, as she struggled with her grades, and even Stacy felt sorry for her.

"It's ok-kay, now, Sta-cy. I'm rea-lly glad you're so sm-art, now."

"What Tiffany said, Stacy. I'm glad for you and Quinn, I really am. It's just, that, you know, I'm jealous of the both of you now, that's all. You three are going to go places."

"Come on, Sandi, you're going to go places, too. Don't act like that. Besides, I have a surprise for all of you!"

"A surprise, Stacy?"

"Sure, Quinn, and here he comes, now!"

An athletic, well dressed young man walked over to their table, and Stacy jumped up, hugging him tightly.

"This is Sam Stack! He graduated from Oakwood high last year, and I met him at a party. We're going to go to the same college, and we'll marry after we graduate!"

Sam smiled down at the three speechless girls still sitting at the table.

"Nice to meet, you, I've heard a lot about all of you, and ... "

His deep, resonant voice cut off as Sandi had collapsed on the floor, unconscious. She came awake in the ambulance, screaming hysterically, attacking the EMT riding in the back with her. Quinn had followed her to the hospital with Tiffany. Stacy, confused, had left with Sam.

"Quinn, what happened? What's wrong with Sandi?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Griffin. She passed out in the restaurant, and the EMT said she came awake and attacked him. He had to sedate her!"

Sandi shuddered in her hospital bed. Even sedated, she fought against her restraining straps for hours before she had finally collapsed into a deep sleep. Her mother and father never left her side. She had heard Sam Stack's voice before. It had haunted her for years.

"Gentlemen! I know we're all sad that Oakwood lost the game with Lawndale!"

One week later, Sandi walked to the nearby highschool. It was late at night, but she didn't trust herself to drive. When one of the janitors answered her knock, she easily talked him into letting her in, to retrieve a purse she said she had left there. She made her way up the stairs to the roof, and leaned against the ledge, staring down at the well lit school grounds.

She had heard that Daria and Jane had used to sneak up here all the time. From what little she knew of them, they had mostly done it to look down on everybody. From Li's paranoia about security, she was surprised they had gotten away with it.

_It was him. Stacy's fiancee. He raped me. She'd never believe me, never. I, should have told them all about it, and now, I've lost them to_o, _forever_. _Mom, dad, I'm so sorry_. _I'm such a failure. Everybody will be better off, without me_. _What do I have to live for now, anyway. My life should end here, like, who'd miss me, besides Mom, and maybe dad._

Sandi gritted her teeth, and slowly slipped up onto the parapet. Just one slip, and it would all be over. No more worrying about things, no more seeing her friends live a better life than she ever would

_And no seeing Stacy throwing her life away._

Sandi took a deep breath, and gave herself a slight push, closing her eyes.

Only to feel the bruising grip of two strong hands grabbing her upper armspulling her roughly back, away from the edgeSandi thumped down hard on the graveled rooftop, staring upward in disbelief at the stern figure standing over her. Angela Li glared down at herher hands on her hips, between Sandi and the roof edgeSandi numbly noted that the Lawndale High principal was not wearing her shoes, but was standing there in her stocking feet.

"Miss Griffin! What do you think you're doing up here, you, of all people! I would never have thought this of you, and I am very disappointed."

"What? You think I'm bringing dishonor to Lawndale High! Who gives a damn, anymore!"

"Miss Griffin, I know you've had a lot of problems lately, but jumping off the school roof isn't going to help you at all. Problems need to be faced, believe me, I do know what I'm talking about."

The shock of her failed suicide overcame her, and Sandi fell back against the rooftop, the gravel painful against her back, and just closed her eyes. Li hesitated, then gingerly sat down next to her. After a moment, she took off her coat, and slipped it under Sandi's head. Sandi's breathing was still strong, and Li saw silent tears running down her face.

Looking down at her, she was reminded of another time, back in South Korea. Of another scared little girl, who had needed a helping hand..

_Thank you, Sergeant Matt_.


	14. Chapter 14

As usual on a weekend, the wooden buildings in the "camp town," were packed full of Korean women and men from the United Nations Peacekeeping Force. These were men from the United States, the United Kingdom, Canada, and the Phillippines's, as well as more than a dozen other countries. Many of the men were lined at the door's negotiating with the expressionless men or women serving as the pimps. They were generally family members, aunts, uncles, brothers, even grandmothers. There were also bars and gambling dens, catering to other tastes. The streets were dimly lit, guttering lamps and torches providing an eerie glow. Shouting, cursing, gasping and moaning echoed to the crowds in the streets. Military Policemen prowled the streets, turning a blind eye to small crimes, while alert for any fights that could easily go out of control.

The sheer boredom was overshadowed by the very real threat of another attack by the Chinese backed North Korean Army. That tension, mixed with drugs, liquor, and paid sex, made an explosive combination.

The jeep screeched to a halt as a small Korean girl darted nimbly in front of it, vanishing in the shadows of the alley between two rickety buildings across the street. A big G.I. chased the girl, scrambling after her. A loud screech, followed by a thud, indicated he had caught her. The MP braked the jeep and jumped out, moving cautiously into the darkness, his left hand holding his baton, his right hand on his holstered 45 pistol.

"You little brat! Give me back my money!"

The soldier shouted, shaking the girl. One hand held her pressed against the wall, while his fist waved threateningly in her face. Her bare feet were close to two feet off the ground. She screamed back at him in Korean.

"Don't you give me that! You were speaking English just fine five minutes ago, you little cheat! Where's my money?"

The MP pushed his way through the small crowd already gathering around the two. He was a short bull dog of a man, with thick shoulders. The angry soldier kept his grip on the girl, but shifted slightly, keeping a wary eye on the MP.

"Okay, soldier, put the girl down, _now_!"

"The freaking brat stole my pay!"

The little girl screamed at him.

"No steal! You lose money fair and square!"

"You little cheater! Give me back my money, or I'll . . . !"

With a frantic twist, the girl agilely slipped out of his grasp, and tried to dive back into the crowd. The soldier roared and dived after her, slamming into a couple of the curious onlookers. Fists started flying, and the alley erupted into a mass of fights, men slipping in the mud filling the narrow space. Whistles sounded down the street as other patrols spotted the uproar. The soldier who had started it cursed. He had lost his pay, the MP's would blame him, and it was all that little brat's fault! With a string of obscenities, he yanked a knife out of his waistband, and ran toward the MP. The other man squared off against him, then deftly rapped his knuckles with his nightstick. The soldier dropped his knife with a roar of pain. The MP's massive fist slammed into the man's jaw, and he toppled backward into the mud. The rest of the fighters froze as three shots ripped the night air. The MP slid his .45 back into the holster.

"Atten-hut! All right, soldiers, this party is over!"

Jeeps pulled up on either end of the alley. Other Military Police jumped out, facing down the sullen mob, releasing the civilians, lining the soldiers up against the rickety walls, seizing weapons, and taking back anybody who needed medical care to the base. The knife man was hauled up out of the mud, still cursing. After he was driven away, one of the other officer's approached the sergeant.

"Damn, Sarge, what happened?"

"New man from the states got worked over in a shell game. Went nuts, and wanted his cash back."

"Civie, or another GI?"

"Little girl, about eleven."

"Aw, cripes, not little miss sticky fingers again!"

"Afraid so. I know where she hangs out."

"The Lieutenant isn't going to like this at all, Sarge."

"Couldn't help it. The hick pulled a knife on me."

"Hell, I ain't complaining, Sarge. Just glad you didn't shoot the guy."

"I hate knives, you know that, corporal."

The Sergeant retrieved his jeep, and drove out of the camp town to a small village a mile away. Rather than entering the village, though, he stopped just outside of it, at a ruined building. It had been a school, but destroyed during the war.

"Angel? Angel Li? It's me."

There was a moment of silence, then he saw a large flat rock move. The girl peeked out at him from beneath it, then, seeing he was alone, reluctantly climbed out of her shelter. Her black hair was roughly cropped off at shoulder level. Her clothing was a collection of rags, cut down to her size, remnants of various uniforms she had picked up out of the trash. It was clean, however, and he recognized the careful sewing the girl's mother had used to stitch the whole thing together. Her little feet wore sandals made out of old tires, a trick often used by the thrifty Korean people.

"How come you're not home, this late at night?"

The little girl made a face.

"Mama's working tonight, and the john's don't like me being there."

"I told you that sooner or later somebodies's going to catch you at that shell game."

"Ha! You GI's run like cows. All clomp, clomp!"

"He caught you tonight. What happens when I'm not there? I don't want you to get hurt, Angel."

"You strange man, Sergeant Matt. Mama says so, too. Why you care? Other kids have soldiers for dad's, and they don't care at all. Why are you different?"

"I sure wish I knew, Angel. I've got to get back on patrol. Promise me you'll stay here until morning. I know there's a sucker born every minute, but give them a break tonight, okay?"

"Okey-dokey, Sergeant Matt!"

She gave him a picture perfect salute, which she spoiled by sticking her tongue out, before diving back into the narrow tunnel. The sound of a giggle was cut off as the rock moved back into place.

Sergeant Matthew Morgendorffer, a Military Policeman on his forth tour of duty in Korea, sighed as he climbed back into the jeep, starting it up, and turning around to go back to the base. Married, with a wife and two kids stateside, and one local daughter, from his time with a Korean hooker. She was his, he was sure of it. She acted just like Joan back home, an independent tomboy who was always into everything, and never took no for an answer.

"Damn it, Matt,' he muttered to himself, "the girls right. Why should I care? Most of the kid's around here are half American, British or Australian anyway, and most of the men don't give it a second thought. Ruth's given me nothing but hell since I told her about Angel. I didn't mean to do that, either. But I blurted it out when she found her picture in my things, my last stateside leave."

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"What the hell do you mean, she's your daughter? You mean to tell me that's why you keep going back to that crappy place? So you can fornicate with those, those dirty Chinese women!"

"Damn it, Ruth, that's not it at all! I was just sick of all the fighting and killing! I know I was wrong to do it, but ... "

"What fighting? You're just a cop! Just a glorified crossing guard, not a real soldier at all! I will never know why you don't bother to get a real job!"

"This is a real job! You damn well I was in the real fighting, during my first tour of duty! The Chinese had us pushed, all the way down to the southern coast, and I did my share of fighting, all of us did! We MP's are in charge of security behind the front lines! I've been in firefights just out Seoul, for God's sake.! My partner, Jimmy Smith, nicest, quietest farm-boy you ever saw, got a bullet in his gut right next to me and he died before I could get him back to camp!"

"Matt! For God's sake not in front of the children!"

Matt pulled himself out of his recollection with a start. Jake clung to his mothers skirt, his eyes wide, his face white. Joan leaned forward, her eyes bright with fascination. Her mother spotted her.

"See what you've done, Matt? Do you see? Our little girl is turning into one of your foul mouthed drinking buddies!"

"That's not fair, Ruth. Joanie is a tomboy, that's all. So what if she talks a little rough? "

"A little rough? Why just yesterday when she skinned he knee playing baseball of all things, she cussed like a sailor!"

"Ah, sailors are wusses, anyway. It takes a Marine for some really salty swearing!"

"Do you hear yourself?! She won't wear dresses, doesn't want to cook, and is just hopeless at housework!"

"Look, Ruth, I know you work hard, and I've always told you how much I appreciate it. Your meals are great, the house is always spotless."

"Then why don't you give me more control over our household expenses."

"Damn it, Ruth, I give you money!"

"Not anywhere near enough! Prices have gone up since we got married, believe it or not! You spend so much time in that cesspit of a country that you don't know how things are over here in this one!"

"Ruth, if we don't stop them over there, those commies will all be over here!"

"But why you? Why does it have to be you? Matt, you're smart, you're a hard working man. You can get a good paying job right here. You need to be with your family, with me. Little Jakey here hardly knows you and . . .

Both adults looked around. The room was empty except for themselves, and Ruth sighed in weary frustration.

"She may be a tomboy, but I have to admit, she's a smart, take charge girl. Just what every man is looking for in a wife."

"Where are they?"

"Fort Morgendorffer."

"Huh?"

That's what Joan calls their tree-house.."

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"Daddies really mean! He always makes momma cry every time he comes home!"

"He doesn't mean to, Jake, he just has lot's of problems."

"You always stick up for him cause he likes you best!"

"Daddy loves you too, he just has a hard time showing it."

"It's not fair! He always takes you camping and everything!"

"Jake, you and mom don't like camping, remember? You didn't like sleeping in a tent, you didn't like being dirty, and you were scared of all the bugs."

"Was not! It was those nasty squirrels! They kept growling at me!"

"Jake, those were their nuts you found in that hollow tree. They need those for the winter. They wanted them back."

"I wanted to give them to momma."

"I know, Jake, I know."

Jake stared out the small window, pouting, clutching his teddy bear tightly, for a few minutes, before he spoke again.

"How come you call me Jake, like daddy does, and not Jakey, like mom does?"

"Cause you are a big, strong man like dad, someday, Jake."

"Momma says I have a delicate constitution, and I have to be careful."

Jake retreated to the far side of the tree-house, ending the conversation. Joan didn't really think Jake was that delicate, but their mother certainly treated him that way. Mom had always babied Jake, almost never letting him out by himself at all. She did let him cook, praising his effort, no matter how bad the food turned out. Joan, on the other hand, enjoyed hiking and camping with their father. He had taught her how to shoot and hunt, always making sure that they ate whatever the shot. Joan had been fascinated by that.

"Joan, I want you to remember that using a gun is a big responsibility. You always be careful with one, and never play with it. You always make sure you have a clean target, and be careful where your bullets might end up."

They were both in the woods. Joan had just shot and killed a rabbit, and as always, her father insisted that they gut and clean it there in the field. Her fathers words played in her mind, until something fitted together, and she blurted something out."

"Dad?"

"Yes, Joan?"

"Did you ever have to shoot somebody? A person?"

"There was a very long silence. Her father stared at the trees behind his daughter, lost in his own memories. But he had always been an honest man, and finally answered her.

"Yes."

"Was it an enemy soldier?"

"Joan, I shot a lot of enemy soldiers, Chinese and Korean both. They tried to kill me, my buddies. I can't remember a lot of that, now. But, I shot a little Korean girl."

"Daddy?"

"She was only eight or nine years old. She was in a group of refugee's that were coming to our position. I took out my binoculars. She was holding a grenade in her little hands. I could see it plain as day, there was no pin in it. I yelled at her, the other refugee's scattered, but she started running toward us. She wouldn't stop running. I put a bullet between her eyes. She fell down, and then the grenade went off."

He walked away, and Joan sat there, staring at the remains of the rabbit for a very long time.

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Jake sat there staring at his sister. He was sitting in her kitchen. Joan had eased herself off her cane, and sat across the small table from him. Photo albums, bundles of old letters littered the table between them.

"Did mom know?"

"I don't think so. I think I was the only one he ever told the story too, and I believe it. It wasn't the kind of war story you would tell people about."

"But he told you."

"Jake, as much as I loved Dad, and still love Mom, neither one of them were perfect. They both had their troubles, both with us, life, and each other. I always wanted to be a soldier, even with Dad telling me how rotten a soldiers life really was. But, he thought of it as his duty, like I did.

I became a nurse, to get into action, as close as I could get, and I nearly died from it. Now, I'm a doctor, semi retired. I still help people, and I volunteer at the local clinic."

"Damn, what were you like at college?"

"I had a time. Ex-Army nurse trying to get a college degree in medicine? Not to mention medical school? My leg hurt all the time, and after Dad died I lost contact with the family. Mom would send me cards, but not talk too much. She made a big deal out of your antiwar stance in college, and how Helen was a fancy, big city lawyer. I figured you just didn't want to remember me."

"Hell, Joanie, I thought you didn't want to talk to me!"

"Momma's boy, and daddies girl, fine pair we were, huh?"

"I've missed you, big sister."

"I missed you too, little brother."

Jake's cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and Jake glanced at the callers number, noting with surprise that it was Helen.

"Hello? Helen? This is Jake. Is everything okay?"

Joan watched Jake's face turn white, and he dropped his cell phone on the floor. Joan painfully reached down and picked it up.

"Hello? This is Joan, Joan Morgendorffer, I'm Jake's sister. Jake dropped the phone. Is anything wrong? I see, I'm very sorry. I ..."

Jake gently took the phone away from his sister.

"I'm sorry about that Helen. I'll be on the next flight back. Does Daria know yet? Fine, I'll try to get through then. Your sister's are coming down? Good, I'll be home in just a few hours. Why? I'm still your husband, that's why! Quinn was my daughter, too! I love you, no matter what, I love you!"

Jake cut the connection, and dialed the airline.

"Yes, this is Jake, Jake Morgendorffer, and I need a flight to Boston as soon as possible, for one person. This is an emergency!"

His sisters hand touched his shoulder.

"Jake? Make it for two. I'm coming with you. We 're going to stick together from now on. You're not alone."

"Yes, make it seating for two! Thanks, sis, damn it, I need two seats, pronto!"


	15. Chapter 15

The alarm and Daria fumbled for the snooze button. Sitting up in bed, she swung her bare feet to the floor, suppressing a small yelp as something crunched. Grabbing her glasses from the bedroom table, she wasn't surprised to see she had stepped on and crushed another cockroach. His friends and relatives scurried away. Swearing softly under her breath, she sat back down in bed, grabbing a tissue and wiping the gory remains from the sole of her foot. Another day of life in the big city. Another day in her seemingly permanent exile from family and so-called friends.

And a week since the US Marshals' agent Smith had told her Quinn had died.

Still, her life went on, day by day. She ate, slept, tried to write a little using a pen and paper, a process punctuated by long stretches of staring at the wall. She went to work, talked dirty to total strangers on the telephone, neither one ever seeing the other. She would pull memories of Quinn out of her mind, examine them critically, like a reviewer, then carefully place it back in storage. But none of them seemed to touch her.

"Have I become so jaded by life that I just don't care anymore? My little sister choked to death, married to the only real boyfriend I ever had, and I just don't seem to give a damn."

That thought in itself didn't matter to her.

Her mind told her that she was in denial, which sooner or later she would break open, spilling out all the anguish and pain, hate and despair. She had dismissed the thought, thinking herself past that stage.

"Maybe I just really don't care. That lech, Tommy Sherman, called me a Misery Chick, told me I wanted to be miserable. Even Jane got upset when I didn't join the crowd. Sure, nobody like Sherman, but they still feel obligated to feel bad about his death, and it didn't bother me at all. But Trent's death crushed me. Jane nearly got killed then, too. I had nightmares of Dimitri just staring at me with those cold green eyes of his as he slowly broke my neck, as he would shoot down Mom and Dad, while Jane just stood there, not caring at all. I just feel all dead inside, shriveled up. I feel dead inside, just waiting for some mobster, or worse, some mobster wanna be to try collecting on my head. I know people kill for the kind of money Dimitri stole. But what was that thing Smith mentioned about chess?"

Daria shook her head and stumbled into the bathroom, where she went though her afternoon ritual of coaxing enough lukewarm water out of the rattling pipes to feel clean. She dried herself, applying the few toiletries' she bothered using anymore. She threw on a pair of ratty blue jeans and a faded sweat shirt. She ate her simple breakfast, dry toast and coffee. A memory bubbled up from the depths of her mind as she sipped her coffee from the plastic cup, startling her.

"Quinn and her cronies never drank coffee, said it would give you premature winkles. What and odd thing to remember about her! She would always go on and on about her skin, her tiny pores, her dieting with celery sticks, carrot sticks, and those insane cheese less pizza's her crowd would eat. It seemed so meaningless, both then and now. I know what that Sandi Griffin is up to, I know what happened to Stacy, and the other one? What was her name? Oh, that's right, Tiffany something or another. Jane pretended to be Tiffany to get into that party of Brittany's. We had just met at Lawndale High. First Jane, the best friend I ever imagined having. Then Jodie, so smart, so gung-ho, whether she wanted to be or not! I wonder what she's like away from her parents? And of course Brittany Taylor herself. She could act so clueless, but she could be so, so, damn it!"

Daria's mental voice trailed off as she lost herself in a long suppressed encounter. She was surprised to feel tears leaking out from under her eyelids.

"Damn it, I'm lonely! I had a few dates in college, but the guys were generally either afraid to do or say anything wrong, or else they just wanted to get me drunk or stoned. The two or three women I tried to connect with never seemed to feel the way about me I felt about them. Jane didn't seem to know until I told her, which surprised me as much as it did her! I hadn't really wanted to tell her. I was afraid it would mess up our friendship, like that time I kissed Tom when he was still dating her. Tom was okay, but I mostly liked that he was my intellectual equal, knew what I was talking about when I talked about literature, and foreign films. Jane would just joke about it, not really getting things. I also liked that he never put any pressure on me, that he was as laid back as poor Trent was. Tom was disappointed, sure that night I promised to go all the way, but never showed up. I always wondered if what might have happened if I had. Hell, look at the time! I'm going to miss the bus!"

Daria was already at the door before she realized that she was still wearing her oversized, down at the heels house slippers. Cursing, she grabbed her running shoes (her faithful Doc Martens had been another casualty of the Witness Protection Program advice), kicked off her slippers, and locking the door, ran down the stairs barefooted. She arrived at the bus stop at the end of the street just in time, breathless and sweating, and was the last one to scramble aboard the rickety vehicle.

Not far from Daria's stop, the bus pulled through a rundown area of town with the unofficial nickname of "the War Zone." City police would cruise through the area generally only in the daylight, but usually made no effort to arrest the pushers, pimps, and hookers on the streets. Like many cities, they preferred to keep the violent crime and vice in its own neighborhood. The reality between the erotic fantasies Daria would whisper over the phone, and the gritty, bare existence of the hookers on the streets was stark, and she generally averted her eyes as her bus passed through the area.

Prostitution, like the drugs sold here, was gang controlled. Daria knew that the women here were literally owned by their pimps, facing hopeless lives, addicted to drugs, risking every type of STD. Rather than the glamourous picture of rich madams, and their protected group of bored housewives, and innocent coeds, these women were at the very bottom of society.

Daria got off her bus, walking down the street to the old, two story brick building Sal based his phone sex business in. This part of town was a collection of older business's, but it was still too close to the dangers of the War Zone not to be careful, especially for a woman by herself. Daria slipped through the other people on the street, and punched in the combination into the door lock. The lock clicked, and Daria pushed the heavy wooden door open, making sure it shut behind her. The heavy portal was sheathed with a sheet of metal on the outside. Walking up the rickety stairs, she nodded to Rosie, who was busy on the telephone with a customer.

Daria could imagine the customers might react to knowing this woman with the sultry voice was a seventy-five-year-old grandmother. Still, the people calling, male or female, never really dug into the reality of the people working at the business. Daria manned the switchboard, taking over from Rosie, deftly assigning the calls to whoever was free at the moment, and handling them herself when nobody was available. They were shorthanded that night, and it was busy enough to keep Daria from brooding on the past.

The heavy gray clods released their burden over the drab mid western city, and a series of rain showers pelted the ground. The windows were barred, but she slid them open as much as she could, grateful for the fresh, wet smell that drove away the every present pall of stagnant air. She felt almost cheerful as she headed down the street next morning to the bus stop, dodging the stray raindrops that spattered the ground, ducking under the various awnings shielding the storefronts lining the street. The small shelter was dirty, covered with graffiti, but at least it was fairly dry.

A girl huddled on the far end of the bench. She shivered on the far end of the bench, dressed as she was in a tight fitting halter and shorts, both a bright red. She wore a pair of red casual shoes in bad shape, and her bare arms and legs, both painfully thin, covered with bruises. Her skin was almost yellow, though Daria guessed that might be as much from malnutrition as from ethnicity. Her shoulder length black hair was roughly hacked off at shoulder level, and it hung down as the girl stared down at the wet pavement, hiding her features. She coughed hoarsely, her thin body shaking, every rib showing. Daria couldn't see any needle marks, but dressed as she was in this area, she was likely a hooker out of the War Zone, a drug addict, belonging to one of the street gangs.

Her presence had shattered Daria's fragile good mood, her frail body reminding her that as far as she herself might have fallen, she wasn't quite yet at the bottom.

"Much has been lost, and there is much left to lose."

Daria hadn't realized that she had murmured that quote aloud until the other girl raised her head and stared at her. The silence dragged on. Daria's eyes flicked toward the hooker. The girl's face was as bruised as the rest of her, one cheek swollen, her lip purpled and split. Her nose had been broken some time before, not set properly. She stared intently at Daria, her dark eyes cloudy, struggling through some inner turmoil, before she sighed and turned away. The bus chose this moment to pull up, and Daria gratefully scrambled aboard it. As it pulled away, the hooker stood there staring after it, then sighed again and walked back into the War Zone, her shoulders slumped.

To Daria's surprise, the hooker was there again the next morning. They shared the shelter with an elderly couple, and the girl kept her face turned away. The old woman muttered something about "street trash. Young people have no morals anymore." Her husband shushed her, looking apologetically at Daria, and hurried his wife up the stairs into the bus. The girl choked on the cloud of exhaust that surrounded the vehicle, but once again didn't get on it herself. Daria got a seat by the window, and looking out, saw the girl staring at the bus somewhat vacantly, like she had already forgotten why she was there. The swelling in her face had gone down slightly, and Daria was truck by a sense of familiarity, though she couldn't imagine who it was. Maybe it was just somebody she had seen before on the streets.

Daria kept her wits about her, varying her route to and from work as much as she could. The hooker didn't show for a week or so, but her identity nagged at Daria. She thought about alerting Agent Smith, and made a point of keeping the emergency cell phone with her at all times.

But nothing seemed to happen. Daria was almost disappointed. In spite of everything, the threat of losing the few acquaintances she had made, she was tired of it all. Tired of being alone, tired of the threat hanging over her head. She missed Jane. She missed her mother and father. She missed Quinn.

Quinn.

The thought of her sister was like dropping a pebble in a deep well. Daria felt something tremble deep inside, a tiny ripple of emotion. She tensed, then slowly relaxed, curious in spite of herself. Would she burst out in tears? Scream or cry? But nothing seemed to happen.

"She's gone, isn't she? No more hearing her chatter about fashion or boys, complaining about me, or the folks, or school, or her little "Fashion Club" world. No more seeing her and Tom in court, trying to cheer up Jane and myself. Tom's still alive, but he's probably in shock. He did love Quinn so much. But his folks will be there for him, and his sister, too. "

Daria stretched, walking into the bathroom, and stared into the tiny cracked mirror over the dingy sink. She and Quinn hadn't had a chance to talk much during her trial, but they had lunch across the street once.

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"I'm sorry Tom couldn't come today, but he's having a lot of trouble at the business, and he really needed to be there, today."

Daria forced herself to smile. It was starting to become plain to see that Jane was a witness against her, not a co-defendant. But it was obvious that Quinn was under a lot of strain, too. Her sister had circles under her eyes, her hands trembled, and Daria could smell the liquor on Quinn's breath.

"Quinn, are you in trouble, too? Is it something with Tom?"

"No! I mean no, Tom is great! He is the most gentle, considerate man, and he . . . "

Quinn's voice trailed off as she noticed the increasingly sour look on Daria's face. She twisted in her seat, and Daria relented.

"I'm sorry, Quinn, I really am. It's just that everything seems to be hitting me below the belt these days. I forget that you have a life, too, and I'm not even trying to help you at all. What's the matter? I noticed that you're under a lot of strain."

Quinn smiled wanly back at her, reaching across the table to grasp Daria's hand. Daria tensed, then relaxed.

"It's that little witch of a sister of his! Elsie acts so sweet around her parents or Tom, but she cut's me down every chance she gets! I just know that she's the one sneaking everything I do to the tabloids, or to that monster, that Sandi! I don't understand any of this at all."

"That's odd. Elsie pretty well ignored both Jane and myself when we dated Tom."

"I don't understand it either. I belong to all the right clubs, but everybody still ignores me. Katherine and Tom's dad are dears, but I can't seem to make any real friends. I haven't talked to Sandi since those awful books. Stacy never is able to meet with me anymore, and Tiffany dropped out of college and disappeared. Daria, why does everybody hate me?"

"Quinn, nobody really hates you, they're just, just, I don't know, maybe they're jealous."

"I'm sorry, Daria. I should be strong, for your sake. You've always been the strong one of the two of us, and now, you need the help."

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Her alarm clock chose that moment to ring. Daria sighed, walking out of the bathroom. Time for another nights work. Damn. Rosie was great, and Sal and the others were okay, but still, she wanted more. Her last meeting with Quinn, and it was the one thing in life she didn't understand, how to make a real friend. Routine guided her, and she moved mechanically. Bathroom, shower, get dressed, breakfast, bus.

It wasn't until she was on the bus, staring duly out the window, that Daria realized just how automatic her life had become.

"When did my life become instructions from the back of a shampoo bottle? "Lather, rinse, repeat?" I do the exact same thing every day of the week, rain or shine. Worrying about that hooker turning me in was almost exciting. I still feel so numb inside. I expected to have graduated from college by now, done some traveling, maybe written a book or two. I'd have a few good friends, visit Quinn and the folks once in a while."

She stared out the bus window, not really seeing the passing street, the homes and stores, the people walking on the street.

"Maybe, just maybe, I'd have fallen in love with somebody, somebody who loved me the same. Mom and Dad meet each other in college after all. Lot's of people meet their significant other in college. I wonder how Mom and Dad would have treated me if they had ever found out I'm gay?

Jane never really brought it up much after I told her. I attended a few gay-lesbian meetings on my own, but everybody was more interested in politics, making public statements. I was never that "forward." I just wanted to fall in love with somebody, somebody I could stand without having fights or worrying. Poor Brittany, I wonder how she's doing? We used to exchange Christmas cards, and e-mail each other every now and again. She was still dating guys, having affairs with girls, afraid to come out of the closet. I know she's graduated from Great Prairie State, with a degree in Drama of all things! She wanted to be a serious actress. I hope things are working out okay for her. I'm sure they are. She's actually very smart, when she's not living down to people's expectations. Maybe I could call her sometime? Yeah, sure. She's got a life ahead of her now, and mine could end at any minute."

The bus rattled to a stop, shaking Daria out of her introspection. Looking out, she saw she was still two stops away from where she got off for work. A tough looking Latino man, with tattoo-covered arms, wearing heavy boots, worn jeans, and a tee shirt, was standing just down the street. Several young women stood with him, dressed flashily, though all were shabby. A familiar flash of red caught Daria's eye.

"Well, I'll be damned, " she muttered.

The hooker in red was standing in the crowd, leaning against the nearest building wall staring blankly ahead of her, focusing on nothing. A car pulled over, a well-dressed man in a blue suit with a bright red tie getting out, talking confidently to the pimp, pointing at the girl. Money exchanged hands, and the pimp casually slapped the girl, jerking his thumb at the car. The girl stepped over to the car, getting in, as the car pulled away. She looked dully out the window as the car pulled past Daria's bus. The bus pulled away at that moment. The swelling had gone down on the girls face even more, and Daria was easily able to recognize her.

It was Tiffany Blum-Deckler.


	16. Chapter 16

Had Daria cried? That was the question on Jane's mind after she had heard about Quinn's death. Sure, she felt sorry for Tom, for Helen and Jake. But, she was sitting up tonight in her darkened apartment, staring down at the street thinking about that. Had Daria cried? Or had she brushed it off, rationalized it like she did so many things? The few times Daria had actually shown any other emotion than mild distaste Jane could count on one hand. That sour look when Quinn had told a boy that Daria wasn't her sister, either not knowing or maybe not caring that Daria was walking by at the time. Occasionally anger, a look of pain, the fear and loneliness when they were broken apart, after Daria made the mistake of taking up with Tom, when Jane and he had been going through a rocky patch. For such an otherwise strong willed personality, Daria was so emotionally dependent on the people she let into her closed circle of friends.

The open emotion on Daria's face after she had met her at that diner. Daria had bolted from home, desperate for once to be with Tom at the Cove. A near collision in a rainstorm had brought her to a literal screeching halt. Daria had been shaking, tormenting herself with how she had treated her parents over the years. When she had finally realized how she had misunderstood them, how they hadn't been the cardboard cutouts she had pictured them as, but were two human people, doing the best they could, Daria had snapped, bolted and run. So, had Daria cried?

Jane had heard from Agent Crawford that Daria had taken Trent's death badly. She hadn't given her any real details, but Jane knew Daria well enough to fill in the blanks. That information could have gotten Crawford in trouble if her superiors had found out she had told Jane.

"Crawford was okay, for a Fed. Quite a bit more human than those clones from the US Marshall's office. Still, they are professional, and Daria and I are still alive. Jesus and Helen are great people, even his mom, Maria, has practically adopted me! Still, I miss Daria. And Ms. De Foe. And poor Trent. Damn my freaking family! Trent gets gunned down right in front of me, and did any of them even notice? Helen Morgendorffer is the only one who helped me at all with that! Even after I testified against Daria, she helped me with Trent. Damn it!"

She desperately longed for a run, but knew better than to try it this time of night. She hadn't had as much trouble as Daria had at getting placed, but this was still a rough neighborhood. She couldn't even pace in her apartment. Late as it was, there would soon be angry shouts from her downstairs neighbors if she did. Jane didn't want that. In spite of what she missed, things weren't too bad here.

"I've got a bit of an artistic job. I've got friends. I've had a few lovers, mostly nice guys'. Nobody really wanted a commitment, but that was okay with me, I just wanted the sex, too. Just the sex, though none of them could match my Dmitri. My beautiful tiger, my deadly Siberian. My skin still tingles just thinking about him. I miss him so bad sometimes it hurts. Dmitri or Daria? Damn it! She hates me now, but I was only trying to help keep her alive, I swear!"

Wasn't that the truth? She hadn't really had the chance to talk with Daria after their arrest, period. Dmitri or Daria? Daria was her friend, her best friend. But Dmitri was her lover. So fierce, so passionate. She loved him! He had broken open her shell of detachment, showing her how to live! But, he had killed, first for his country, then for profit. He was a murderer. That sexy, thoughtful man was a mob hit-man. Had he framed Daria, like she had claimed? Had he set her up, using her computer and her passwords? Damn it! Daria was so smart. She had done some gambling before. Back room poker games, mostly, where her impassive face had served her well. But then there had been that interview, with those cold faced men and women in black suits. And they hadn't been attorneys, or even FBI, the ones who had charged Trent.

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Jane stirred fretfully. Dressed as she was in orange coveralls, her hands cuffed in front of her to a waist chain, her feet restrained by manacles connected to a short chain, forcing her to only shuffle along. This was definitely overkill, she thought. All she needed now was a mask covering her face to keep her from biting them. Did they really think she was that dangerous? She had been hurriedly hustled out of her cell late at night, chained and shackled, into a car with blacked out windows, and after a shirt time, delivered into an anonymous garage, then hustled into this interview room. She glanced over at the mirrored wall, knowing she was being observed. She was locked to a stiff metal chair. The room was cool, with harsh lighting hurting her eyes. The table was bolted to the floor as well.

_Well, I can wait as long as they can. But what's up? I've already pleaded guilty, to save _

_Trent. Something else about my testimony? I've already stated all the facts. I really tried hard not to incriminate either Dmitri or Daria_ _anymore then I've done already_._ Damn. Dmitri or Daria? My little amiga slipped to second place. After all these years, it was bound to happen. Daria's tried so hard, but she still has problems making friends. Once I found out she was gay, I tried to be supportive. Now this mess! What else can go wrong with our lives? Is Dmitri really a killer? A hit man? Do I really want to believe that my lover has shot people down in cold blood? Daria was always a little afraid of him. I just thought it was jealousy, because she was alone, and I wasn't._

_Trent running drugs, Dmitri money laundering with fake bets, maybe killing people. And Daria? Would she have done what the FBI said? Helped Dmitri with that? But they didn't even like each other! Or was it all an act? If they were doing that, what else were they doing behind my back? Why did Daria have a backdoor built into the Grace, Sloane and Page Companies computer system? I don't know what to believe any more!_

Still, there had been that one time . . .

Jane had staggered out of the pub, hanging off Dmitri's rock steady arm. Her attempts to match him drinking vodka, straight, hadn't quite turned out like she had hoped it would. True, he had warned her about it. After her sixth or seventh shot, though, she had bolted very unsteadily for the bathroom door, the other patrons giving her a wide berth. Barely making it to the sink in time.

Jane glared at Dmitri's face, at it's most impassive. Still, she could swear there was a twinkle far back in his blue eyes.

"I, I think it would be easier to just die, now."

"No, my lovely Jane, you are very much alive. Your strong body will triumph at this, as it does other things."

"How can you drink so much of that stuff?"

"Practice, my lovely runner, practice."

Jane seriously believed there wasn't anything left inside her. The club soda had settled her stomach only slightly. The parking lot still swayed alarmingly back and forth. The little pub was a favorite among the university students. Jane did know that one of the reasons for her drinking binge was frustration. Dmitri and Daria were still coldly polite to each other. Dmitri was becoming increasingly preoccupied with those online bets of his. He won almost every time, so why was he getting more and more upset, worried? He never really seemed to spend his money. Jane abruptly stumbled as Dmitri let go of her. She fell to her hands on knees, the rough gravel digging into her skin, her head swimming. She only avoided vomiting with an effort.

"Damn it. Dmitri, what in . . . ?"

They were no longer alone.

Five young men in their twenties stood around them in a semicircle. From their clothing, they were from one of the poorer neighborhoods. But their bare arms were covered with tattoos. Jane knew that meant they were gang members, cruising out of their neighborhood, looking for trouble. Their leader, wearing a black leather vest over a stained tee shirt, smiled coldly at them, his right hand caressing the handle of a pistol jammed into the waistband of his jeans. Even in her drunken state, Jane could see how jittery they all were. They were flying high on something nasty.

Dmitri stood by her side, calmly, like this was nothing unusual, his hands at his sides. He spoke evenly.

"We do not want any trouble. Let me give you my money, and my friend's money, all right?"

"Oh, we'll take your money, all right, but we'll take your friend too. She's sort of scrawny, but that okay, she's got what we're looking for."

"You don't really want to do that. Take our money, and enjoy yourselves. I'm sure that you can find better girls. This one is skinny, like you said."

"New," he said, spitting on the ground. "She's okay with us. Like it when they try to fight. Maybe we'll let you watch, you might learn a few things, college boy."

They all stepped forward, and one of them casually kicked out at Jane. She stared dumbly at his boot, her drunken body frozen, trembling. Dmitri said only one word.

"No."

Dmitri released the tension in his left leg, and neatly slid in between Jane and her attacker. The man gasped as Dmitri's leg parried his, spinning him off to the side with a shout, where he fell to the ground. But Dmitri had already spun back around. The next man had a knife, and he thrust it straight forward, stiff-armed. Dmitri stepped forward toward the knife-man, the blade just grazing his ribs. The palm of his hand snapped upward, and there was a dull crack as he made contact with the man's chin, his eyes glazing as he crumpled to the ground, the knife falling to the ground. Dmitri continued his movement, but staying between the gang leader and Jane.

The other man bellowed in fury, yanking the pistol out of his belt. Dmitri's car keys flew toward his face, and he ducked, losing sight of the Russian for a split second. He grabbed the man's gun-hand, twisting it sharply away from the kneeling girl. The man let a short yell as his forearm snapped, and the gun fell to the ground. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he sank to his knees in shock. The fourth man had just reached Jane, grabbing her hair, pulling her head back. Jane, still on her knees, rammed her head forward, slamming directly into his crotch. He screamed and fell over backwards, clutching himself. Jane yelped as the man pulled out a clump of her hair in his tightly clenched fist.

Dmitri turned toward her at the sound of her cry, then gasped as the fifth mans knife tore a narrow slash down his muscled back. Jane screamed and scrambled forward, tackling him. The vodka haze cleared from her mind, and Jane found herself on top of the man, holding tightly to his knife hand. His free hand smashed at her, grabbing at her hair, and she twisted around snapping at it with her sharp white teeth. She bit deeply into the palm of his hand, and he screamed. He surged up from the ground, rolling over on top of Jane. He wrenched his knife hand free from Jane's desperate grip. Blood from his bitten hand spattered across Jane's face. She spat away the taste, her slim athletic body twisting as she fought to get away. Dmitri tackled her captor, his bare hands going for the knife, twisting it away from Jane, and she found herself under both men, temporarily forgotten. Knees and feet scrambled in the dust around her. With the sudden sharp snap of breaking bone, one of the men above her went limp.

"Jane! Are you injured? Did we hurt you?!"

"No, no, I'm all right, just bruised, Dmitri, what the hell just happened?!"

"Just criminals, looking for trouble, we should go now."

"Shouldn't we call the cops, or an ambulance, or, hell, I don't know, somebody?"

"No! No police! Jane, we need to go, now!"

"Okay, okay, Jeez!"

Gently but firmly, he hustled Jane to his car, snatching his keys up off the ground. To Jane's surprise, he drove away calmly, no screeching tires, no running stop signs. The men on the ground were just starting to stir, and Jane realized just how little time the fight had actually covered.

"Jane? Are you sure you are alright? That you are not hurt? I know doctors that are good."

"Dmitri, we should have called the cops!"

"No! I do not want the police involved in this!"

"Those men were going to kill the both of us, and do who the hell knows what to me!"

"But they didn't! What would your police do, Jane? Look up your sexual history, take your blood alcohol level? While our killers laughed in the streets about this? Those men have been prowling the local colleges, while police and campus security fumbled like sheep. What good is all your fancy technology if nobody will do anything with it?"

Jane stared at him. He wasn't afraid. She knew that. He drove calmly, but she saw how tightly his hands gripped the wheel, the intensity in his eyes. He wasn't going to blow up, or shout, or scream. But, what was going through his mind? Suddenly, she saw him as Daria had seen him, not just smart or sexy.

Dangerous, like a tiger.

She tried again.

"They were going to, to . . . "

"But they didn't! You are in no danger, my lovely runner. Those men will never bother you, or anybody else, ever again. A real man, a man who deserves such a lovely woman as you, must handle his own problems."

"What if they do go after someone else? I'm no big fan of the cops, but shouldn't we file some report or something?"

An icy cold seemed to fill the car. Dmitri turned his eyes toward Jane, trapping her deeply inside their green depths. Jane saw past the smart lover, the ex-Spetnaz soldier, the hopeful college student.

She saw the killer inside, staring back at her, measuring her, weighing her. The moment passed. Dmitri sighed deeply, his attention on the crowded street.

"You are in no danger from me, Jane. Not ever. Nor your clever little friend. I will not swear it, but I will state it. My word is my bond, forever."

Jane relaxed slowly, but she was still confused. She had no idea of the storm about to break over their heads. Or the extreme's Dmitri would go to protect her.

One week later, Jane had woken early. Dmitri had left town earlier that week, for personal reasons. An uncle, who lived in New York. Jane was rushing through their apartment, throwing on her clothes, when the tail end of a news broadcast caught her ear.

"This just in. Police have just confirmed the deaths of five men, all suspects in the string of assaults and car-jacking's on Boston college campuses in the last several months. Police at this time fear this incident might be gang related, and fear violence may continue. Area residents are asked to . . . "

Jane froze, listening intently, but the news had no real further information. They didn't show mug-shots of the dead men, either. Looking at the time, she swore, and grabbing at her backpack, managed to make it down to her car for the hectic trip to campus and classes. Her lateness caused problems all morning, and it wasn't until her lunch that she heard anymore information.

Johnny Rodriguez scowled at the few pedestrians on the dead end street. He caught the eye of Hector Sanchez, who was slouched across a nearby light pole. He knew that they had to keep lookouts, that other gangs might muscle in on their turf, small as it was. He resented having to do it tonight, when they were inciting new members. They were all inside raising hell, and he was outside with his cousin. His finger nervously stroked the butt of the cheap pistol inside his jacket pocket. Gang life could be rough, but being alone was worse. A guy alone on the streets got no respect, and he wasn't going to waste his life like his father, working as a janitor in a school.

Johnny tensed for a minute, then relaxed. An old man, dressed in several layers of rags, staggered toward him, only held up by the creaking shopping cart he pushed along. It was piled high with garbage. One whiff made the young man gag. Then he frowned. Even if the old man was just a street bum, still, Hector should have stopped him.

Looking over, he saw the other man slumped down on the ground, held up by the lamp post.

"Damn it! Hey Sanchez, Pablo sees you slacking off, he's going to cut you worse than some of those new guys, tonight! Get up, man, what are you on? Hey pops, get lost! This is our turf! Whew, you got a dead cat in there?"

Johnny gasped as the old man stumbled into him. The sharp pain in his chest drained his strength, and he looked down in shock. His blood gushed out of his belly, out around the knife blade driven deeply into it, slanting upward into his heart. He grasped feebly at the old man, seeing for the first time his cold green eyes, so crystal clear they trapped him deep inside. He recognized the strange college student they had tried to murder a week before. Darkness flooded over him, and he died.

Dmitri gently eased the man to the ground, like he was helping him. Somebody could come along at any moment, and he didn't want the police involved. He had scouted out the location for several days, and had gotten some ideas as to the gang's habits. But working alone, he couldn't take chances. He pushed the cart away, staggering slightly, across the street, taking his time. Just a crazy, homeless, old man.

No alarm sounded behind him. The next street over, he pushed the cart into an alley behind a dumpster, next to a vacant, two story building. It was securely locked, but the locks were only there to keep out vagrants. There were alarms, but no camera's. He climbed the interior stairs to the roof of the building. Assembling the rifle, he studied the scene through the scope. As expected, the bodies had been discovered. The first stage of shock was over. The gang members were all outside, not having found anybody else on their turf. The leader, his broken arm in a sling, was shouting at the others, waving a pistol around in his good hand. Several girls stood around on the outskirts, crying, disheveled, their clothing torn. Several other male gang members stood around sullenly, their hands nervously stroking gun-butts and knife handles. Eyes nervously flashed around, trying to scan all directions. They were bold enough in street fights, but not being stalked like this. Dmitri sighted in on the leader's white, fear filled face. How different it seemed from when he had been threatening them, sneering about raping Jane. The crosshairs lowered to the man's chest, and he fired.

The rifle's bark was lowered to a quiet whisper by the silencer, and the other people stared at the fallen man in confusion for a long minute. The women scattered, none of them standing by the dead man. Dmitri fired once more, and another man fell. The two remaining survivors acted differently. One shoved a running woman behind him, and he screamed at the sky, shaking his fist. The other one grabbed at a girl, and held her in front of him, backing toward the door of their safe-house. Dmitri's next shot was carefully placed in the dirt in front of the last man, and it tore up the loose dirt. He shouted, and threw the girl to the ground, turning to run. The shot hit him in the center of his back, tearing his heart to pieces. The bullet mushroomed as it ripped through his flesh. He regretted having to make the last hit, but he silently saluted the man as he fell, the woman he was protecting screaming as her protector collapsed on her.

He quickly broke down the rifle into smaller pieces, loading them into the small duffel bag he had carried. He retraced his steps down the building stairs, the high collar of his shabby coat shrouding his face, the dirty hat hiding his eyes. He tucked the bag deep into the garbage filled shopping cart, and limped down the street, mumbling incoherently. The dirt smeared, latex gloves were indistinguishable from his own skin. Sirens howled in the distance, getting closer. Even in this neighborhood, people edged away from him, the stench making them gag. The cart squeaked and rattled. Several blocks away, he crept into another alley, pushing the cart into the river. The rifles pieces disappeared in several different ways and places, the latex gloves being doused with lighter fluid and burned, separately. Changing clothes, he disappeared into the street crowds, unnoticed as always.

The night of the shootings, Jane laid awake staring at the ceiling. The tv played on in the next room, its noise only vaguely impacting her. Dmitri was still out of town, or was he? She didn't know anymore. Had he killed those me? Didn't they deserve it? They had been accused of a string of robberies, assaults, and rapes at several Boston colleges. They would have raped her, murdered the both of them. They were drug sellers, drug users. They forced girls into prostitution. The whole community seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

Jane ground her teeth. Daria had been out of town on a class trip, some writer's workshop. She had been excited(well, as excited as Daria ever got), over meeting the guest speaker, some dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, who wrote gothic romance, thinly disguised as horror novels. Jane had seen the woman's picture on the brochure. Hamilton? She couldn't believe Daria actually read that stuff, let alone liked it enough to meet the author. A private detective vampire killer? What else had Daria taken up that she didn't know about?

The word killer yanked Jane away from thoughts of Daria. Killer. Assassin. Hit man. Theories of the killer were rife on the news. Everything from a police sniper to a drug cartel hit. Dmitri had done it? Would he have done it? Could he? What should she say to him? What could she say to him? "Why the hell did you kill the scum-bags who threatened to rape me, and kill the both of us?" Truth to tell, she couldn't muster any real righteous rage. Still, was he a professional hit man? A cold blooded killer? Had he killed anybody besides criminals? Police? Women or children? Did she really want to know about it? Did he have a choice as to who to kill, or did he even care?

"Damn it! Daria's the deep thinker, not me! I just want to learn all about art, have lots of fun and sex, travel, see the world! Met lots of different people, and I was hoping Dmitri would be part of it. Maybe I'm just getting upset for nothing. I don't know it was him. Maybe I'm just letting Daria's morbid suspicions get to me. But damn it all to hell, doesn't it all seem to fit together?"

Jane sighed, trying to stretch her cramped muscles, the heavy chains rattling, weighing on her mind. A sharp click sounded, and the door opened. Two men and a woman walked in, the woman small, brown haired, the men were big, muscular, the men's hair brown, close cropped. They looked more like Marines than Federal agents. They wore black suits and ties, white dress shirts. The woman wore a charcoal-grey power suit, reminding her of a petite Helen Morgendorffer. Her brown eyes drilled into Jane's own. In spite of her determination, Jane blinked first.

"Miss Lane, we need to talk. A certain item has come to our attention."

"You're going to yank our plea deal."

"No, we just needed to talk with you privately. Have you ever heard of something called tritium?"

Jane just stared at them. What was going on now?

"Uh, other than sounding like something out of an old Star Trek episode, no."

"Did Mr. Gagarin, or Miss Morgendorffer ever mention it? Do you recall ever seeing the word on a note, or maybe on an e-mail? It would have been in association with another unusual word, _Ragnarok Gambit_?"

Jane shook her head wearily.

"No, I don't remember anything like that. Daria could get sort of technical sometimes, but I don't recall her ever mentioning that."

"And your boyfriend?"

"Unless it was in Russian, I don't think so. What's so important about it? Was he smuggling it or something?"

"I'm afraid that is classified information, but it is very important. All I'm allowed to tell you is that it is very important. A good many lives could depend on this."

Jane's eyes flashed, and her breath hissed between her teeth. The chain's rattled. The three agents' eyes widened slightly.

"Dmitri might be a killer, but neither he nor Daria are terrorists!"

"Are you sure? Do you really know? Daria has a long record of disaffection with this country, she does read classic Russian literature, and she did cause a riot, back in Lawndale."

"That's just the way she is! She's no traitor, she just doesn't put up with what she think is stupid. It's just her way. She's no student radical."

"We do have her college record. She is a very intelligent young woman. Too bad her career got sidetracked the way it did."

"Yeah, I'll just bet you're sorry."

"Miss Lane, it's late, and we're all tired. You are in no position to blame anybody else for your problems. If you hadn't come across as dupes, and you hadn't cooperated with us, both of you would now be in a maximum security prison for the rest of your lives. No privileges, constant supervision. Your plea deal exists because you can still be of use to this country."

"What's all the fuss, anyway? Unless it's some sort of paint ingredient, I've never heard of this tritium."

Her interrogator brushed the hair back out of her eye's. The woman was older then Jane had thought, exhausted. She stared at Jane, one manicured finger tapping on the cold table, then sighed.

"Tritium is a short lived radioactive element, with an active life of 12 years. It has been used for glow in the dark watch dials, among other things."

Both of the big men frowned down at the two women. Jane knew something important had just been told, but wasn't sure what.

"Radioactive? What the hell do you use something like that for? What other things?"

She wasn't really expecting an answer, and certainly not the one she got.

"A one kiloton, variable yield, thermonuclear bomb."

The silence in the room grew overwhelming.


	17. Chapter 17

Helen stared at herself in her bedroom mirror. As expected, her black "power suit" fit her well, not that she cared. Still, her tailor had done an excellent job. She picked the hat, gazing at the gauzy black veil hanging from the rim.

"Quinn thought hats on women were so tacky. Hats, eww!"

The memory brought a fleeting smile to Helen's face, before it was brushed away by a more recent memory. Quinn laying there on the morgue table, her pink skin now a pale white. Her and Jake's youngest daughter, their strawberry blonde princess. Now, she was gone.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

_My little girl is dead, dead and gone. No more "brat" to Daria's "brain." No grandchildren at all. None from Daria. I knew she was gay, both of us did. We just wanted her to tell us herself, but she never did_. _One of the many secret's she kept from us. But, I'll be standing with the man I married as my youngest daughter is laid to rest, locked away in a wooden box that cost more money than the first car Jake and I bought after our marriage. We were both so proud of that old van. It rattled and creaked, but we both loved it. Daria was probably conceived in that relic. Then we graduated and moved to that horrible little Texas town. Daria was born, then Quinn a year and a half later._

_Poor little Daria was so quiet. She wouldn't play with the other kids at all. But Quinn was just so bubbly, so outgoing, making friends everywhere. She was just so, so normal. Does that make me a horrible person? That one daughter was more normal than the other one? What kind of mother thinks that about her own daughters?_

_Amy and Rita. Daria and Quinn. My sisters and my daughters. So much alike. Quinn's dead now, and I haven't talked to Rita in month's. I'm not allowed to know where Daria is. It's standard practice, they said. So that Jake and I can't be tricked, or forced to give them up. I called that 1-800 number back. It had been canceled. What kind of Witness Protection would make my little girl work in that kind of place?_

Helen's flare of animation, of engaging on a cause faded away. She looked down at the hands gripping the hat. They were dry, her fingers long and spidery. They were trembling slightly. Her skin was dry and rough. An old woman's hands.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

With a sigh Helen got up, and walked downstairs to join the others, and to bury her little girl.

The trip to the Mortuary's chapel was made in silence. Jake drove while Helen stared out the window, watching people, streets, and houses pass by. She had met Joan, but hadn't really talked to her. What was there to say now, anyway?

Her meeting with Jake had been equally restrained.

"Helen, I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"Why, Jake? There was no way of knowing Quinn would choke herself to death this particular week was there?"

Even as bad as she was feeling, that felt incredibly nasty to Helen. Nasty and vicious. Did seeing the stricken look on Jake's face really make her feel all that better? Did she want to fight right now, have a big blow up? Jake stuttered, under a tremendous strain.

"I, I meant, I'm sorry I wasn't here, for you. You shouldn't have been alone."

"It happens, Jake. Quinn died alone. That big manor house, filled with people, and Quinn died by herself. Exactly like Janis Joplin, or Jimi Hendrix. Like Marilyn Monroe. My poor baby. At least she died famously. Katherine Sloan tells me that three people have already been arrested, trying to get into the mortuary, and take pictures of her."

"Well, I'm glad they got them! Damn vultures! Our little girl isn't public property. Why won't they leave her alone!"

Instead of a rant, Jake's words were low, heated. For just a moment, he seemed to be a different man. But, did that mean he wasn't her Jake anymore? Helen wavered, she wanted to surrender, just lay down, and maybe everything would go away. She was so tired of everything, of all the chaos in her life. She had tried to work, still get things done at the office, but she just couldn't. Her old nervous energy had gone.

Gone, just like Quinn was gone. Was Daria next, with that Russian mob contract still out on her?

"Honey? I mean, Helen? It's time to go."

Silently, she walked outside to Jake's Lexus. The other family members were meeting them at the viewing. Nobody had roomed at the house, wanting to give them some privacy. Helen stared out the window, at the cars and houses they drove by on the way to the mortuary. Shops, Lawndale High, all bit's and pieces of their lives up till now. She only put on the hat and veil when they reached the mortuary. Both security guards and Lawndale Police were barely able to keep the crowd of news people and the paparazzi away from the building. Curious onlookers stood behind them, caught up in the excitement. Helen seemed to shrink down into the seat, her bowed shoulders bending even more. Jake walked over to her side of the car, opening the door, as she wearily climbed out..She only shook her head when he reached out to take her arm, stepping away from him, and walking alone to the mortuary. Jake stared helplessly after her for a long moment, then sighed and followed her.

Helen kept her gaze on the heavy wooden doors of the mortuary. Angier Sloan was standing with the guards at the front door of the mortuary. Like Jake and Helen, he looked exhausted. He ushered Jake inside, but stopped Helen.

"Helen? I need to talk with you a moment. Would you come with me?"

Helen silently followed him into an office, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands.. Her heart started pounding in her own ears like a drum. Her vision swam, and she kept her balance with an effort. Angier helped her to a chair, and looked closely at her.

"I have a doctor here right now, I really think you should see him."

"No, no thank you, Angier. I was just a little dizzy."

Angier Sloane shook his head, then sighed and frowned.

"Helen, I'm sorry to have to bother you with this, but my security people have detained someone who seems to have written permission from you to attend this funeral. I doubt that it's real, so just say they word, and I'll be quite glad to have security to throw her out."

"No, no, I did invite her. I know it seems crazy, Angier, but please let her in. I want her here now, I really do."

"Helen, I really don't understand. I don't want my family hurt anymore than it's already been. We've all been through enough!"

"Don't worry, I won't do anything crazy, just please, for me, let her in."

The mourner's sat restlessly on the hard wooden pews. The extended Sloane family sat in a closely packed block. Jake didn't know half of them. He did know John Grace and Harold Page, Angier's partners, and both men had murmured condolences's to him. Once, the attention of such powerful men would have meant the world to him. Ruth sat next to Joan and Jake, other than a muffled greeting, she had been silent. Rita sat apart from her mother and sister Amy. Amy had to admit to herself she enjoyed her oldest sister's discomfort, after years of Rita's being the apple of their mother's eye. Still, her mother Theresa turning her attention to her was unsettling after all these years. She didn't know why she hadn't latched onto Helen, unless it was Helen's icy wall of detachment. Tears, her mother could have coped with. Jake sat next to Marianne, Helen's secretary from work, and she had barely looked at him, just sitting there staring blindly ahead of her.

A tearful Stacy Stack had grabbed onto him and sobbed silently until pried away by her husband, Sam. Nobody else from the high school was there at all.

_Quinn was so popular in high school! Did everybody she knew turn on her? Stacy is the only one here. Where is that other one, that Vietnamese girl? Quinn did say that she seemed to have disappeared out of college. _

Jake heard a gasp of surprise start at the back of the room and sweep forward. The surprise rapidly became hostile hissing.

"Is she insane?"

"Why, of all the nerve!"

"What the hell!"

Jake twisted around in his seat, but was unable to see over the other peoples heads.

_Damnit, this is my daughters funeral!_

Jake squared his jaw and stood up, taking a deep breath and stepping out into the aisle. Both his mother Ruth and sister Joan stared up at him, seeing two very different things. Ruth still saw her little boy, but older, graying at the temples. It was just then she realized how much he resembled his father after all. Joan barely repressed a grin when she saw him square his jaw.

_Let them have it, Jake!_

Angier Sloan's voice filled the vaulted room.

"People, please sit down! This service is not going to be postponed!"

Jake looked down the aisle, just as the closed doors opened, and two people had stepped through.he saw Helen standing in the doorway. Her face was a pasty white, but she still had a firm grip on the arm of the woman next to her. A slender woman, in a stylish black dress, which was modestly cut.

Sandi Griffin.

Her face was as pale as Helens was. Her skin felt dry and cold to Helen's grip, but then, Helen really didn't care. Neither woman paid any attention to the outrage and shock filling the small room. Their attention was riveted to the white casket at the head of the room. Slowly, steadily, the pair walked up to the stylish, expensive, but still pitiful box. Helen said in a quiet, flat voice that carried to every corner of the room of stunned onlookers, "Open it."


	18. Chapter 18

Sandi spun on the ball of her left foot, pivoting smoothly as her right foot lashed out, hitting the dangling weight bag perfectly in the center, before she snapped back to her basic stance, feet a foot apart, fists clenched at her sides. Considering that Sandi's only real exercise before had been swimming, Angela thought she was coming along well in learning the basic's of Tae Kwon Do. She was still breathing rapidly as she went through the repitition of punch, block, kick. But she was slowly relaxing now, not wearing herself out by being tense the whole time. The fact that it was a women only class had helped. Angela still didn't know what had driven Sandi to the roof's edge that night. She did know it had something to do with men, and her friends in the former Fashion Club. Angela had taken karate herself, back in South Korea, in high school and college, but hadn't progressed beyond a brown belt herself.

Sandi threw herself into the sport as she had once thrown herself into being fashionable. She struggled building up her strength, but seemed to enjoy working on the concentration needed to progress in the sport. Her personal and professional life were still progressing poorly though. Angela did know Sandi had an interview coming up with Val Magazine, that pop teen gossip rag. Angela had enjoyed her time with Sandi. She had seldom bonded with any students, first as a teacher herself, then even less as an administrator.

The thought of bonding reminded her of another place she had once stood. Jake Morgendorffer was a taller version of his father, Matt, but there the resemblance ended. He was almost as hysterical as DeMartino. Helen, his wife, was a workaholic control freak. Her parenting style seemed to consist of ignoring her daughters for her job, then trying to bond with them while bullying their teachers. Both daughters drifted through life with a sense of entitlement. Quinn, the younger one could be talked into the occasional school activity, but Daria refused to do anything besides get on peoples nerves. Not like that wonderful Jodie Landon, who was the perfect school student. Bright, cheerful, a real go getter, always willing to help with school projects.

Angela calmed herself down, focusing on her own series of exercises. Breathe in, hold it, exhale slowly. Punch, kick, block. Bow to your sparring partner, then to your sensei. Hit the showers. The tiled room was filled with the chatter of the women as they relaxed after the showers and dressed in their street clothes, ready to rejoin the outside world. Sandi sighed as she folded her gi, redressing in her street clothes. Each piece almost seemed like the piece of a shell, hiding the relaxed young woman who had been sweating out on the floor.

"Sandi? Would you like to eat out with me tonight?"

"Um, no, no thanks, Ms. Li. Oh, I'm sorry, I mean Angela. I really should study more about word processor programs. I need to practice my typing, too. I'm still not fast enough if I want to stay a secretary, at least to a decent boss."

"Sandi, you're trying really hard. You need a break from everything. You can't catch up all at once."

"Don't I know it! I slacked off so much in high school, it's no wonder I screwed my life up."

"Well, you're trying know. Why not relax, at least for tonight? You due to move up out of white belt soon, too."

"I know, I like doing this, I really do! It's almost like dancing. I used to like to dance, before . . ."

Sandi's voice trailed off, and her face paled. She stared at Angela, her eyes unfocused, staring inward. Without another word, Sandi quickly finished dressing and left, almost running. The other women in the room stared after them as Angela did the same and ran after her. The older woman reached the door, but couldn't see Sandi anywhere on the crowded street.

Some distance away, Sandi slowed down, finally walking into a small park. Children played nearby as she sat down on a bench. She was alone with her bitter thoughts.

_Damn it, why! Why? Why can't I let it go? Ms. Li is only trying to help me! She hasn't pried at all .Why? Why can't I do any good? Why does everything have to be so hard! Both Quinn and Stacy are getting married. Tom's okay, but Stacy? Why?! Why didn't she believe me?_

(You know why. Remember that last meeting you had with them?)

Sandi whimpered, bitting her lip, but the grim memory marched on.

"No, Sandi, I don't believe you! Sam is the sweetest, best man I've ever known !It's all just you, you're just jealous, of me, of Quinn, of the both of us!"

"No! Stacy, Quinn! How can you believe that! I'm telling you the truth! I was kidnaped, I was, was. . ."

Stacy broke in, before Sandi could say the word.

"No, no you weren't! Sam told me what happened! He said you got drunk, and you ran off to the party, and just went crazy! You just, just tore all your own cloths off, and then!"

"Stacy, you know me! I would never have done anything like that! "

"No, Sandi, you just kept us all down in that stupid Fashion Club! Fashion? We shopped at Cashman's and read Waif Magazine! We never studied! Never! You kept us all down, Quinn Tiffany and me, and now you're trying to ruin the best thing that's ever going to happen in my life!"

"Stacy! You have to believe me! I'm telling you the truth! Why did you think I fainted in Chez Pierre?"

Quinn sighed and shook her head.

"Sandi, you've lied to us before. Remember all those so called Fashion Club "rules" you kept making up? Remember all the times you'd tell us stories about boys, just so you could date them yourself? Remember all the times you'd lie about your grades, just to make yourself seem better than Stacy and me?"

"Quinn! That was the Club! That was just the way things were then! We, we all did it that way to each other!"

"Sandi, with you it's always the way things are. That's always your excuse for everything you do.

I'm sorry, but I have to agree with Stacy. I think you got carried away at the Oakwood bonfire, and you're just too ashamed to admit it."

"Quinn! Stacy! They raped me! They threw me into a car trunk, tied me up and blindfolded me with duct tape! Does that sound like it was my idea? Does it really?"

The other two girls looked uneasily at each other, momentarily unsure of themselves. Sandi was being so passionate! Quinn pressed her attack.

"Well, if it was so bad, why didn't you say something? You didn't tell any of us not even when Tiffany told us her story about that Roger creep! Tiffany, of all people! And you couldn't say a word?"

"Quinn, I was in shock, with that denial thing! I didn't want to remember it! I didn't want to remember any of it. But this is different! Stacy's getting married to one of those monsters! I, I can't just let that happen!"

Sandi knew she had lost. She could see Quinn's and Stacy's faces set into cold disapproval. Stacy jumped up, bending over Sandi. Sandi cringed back into her chair.

"I don't believe you Sandi. You're just being jealous, making up stories, just like in high school. Trying to ruin us again. Just once, can't you stop twisting everything around? What's next, are you going to accuse Tom of raping you? Just to spoil Quinn's life? I'm sorry, but you need help. But stay away from Sam and me with your lies. You're just pathetic now."

Quinn gently pulled Stacy away from the shaking white faced Sandi.

"I'm sorry, Sandi, but I feel the same way. You're still invited to my wedding, but only if you don't cause any problems. Stacy is going to be my maid of honor. You can still be one of the bridesmaids. And that's over Moms and Kay's, Tom's moms, objections. Please get some help, Sandi, you know you really need it."

Sandi just stared at them both, numb. Without a word, she got up and left quietly. She didn't stomp, or slam any doors.

"Quinn, I feel horrible! I knew Sandi was petty, but this?"

"Stacy, we, I mean you, had to do it. I feel sorry for Sandi too. But she's just lost it. Her whole life has fallen apart, and now she's trying to drag us down with her. Just like Lawndale High."

"But Quinn!"

"Look, you love and trust Sam, don't you?"

"Well, of course!"

"Then, that's all you need. Best friends forever, won't we?"

Stacy beamed back at Quinn, answering her dazzling smile with one of her own.

"You bet, Quinn!"

And neither girl would have been human if she hadn't felt just a twinge of superiority over Sandi's desperation. And buried deep inside the both of them, just the slightest bit of doubt.

Sandi waited forlornly by the bus stop. She'd had to sell her beloved convertible to make ends meet. She could have borrowed money from her parents, but had been too proud to tell them the shambles her life was becoming.

"I knew I was a bitch in high school, but I didn't know they held it against me so much. They think I deserve this! Nobody I know believes me! But I know that's the voice I heard, I just know it! I'll never forget it! But those two think I lost control, that I was just a slut! Snobs! I hope they find out what's its like!"

The bus creaked and rattled to the stop, and Sandi climbed aboard, sharing a seat with a young man her own age. He blinked at her, blushing furiously, then slumped down, hidden under a think textbook.

_Humph! Calculus! What a nerd! He certainly looks like one, button down shirt, even a pocket protector. Still, he'll probably graduate from college, get a better job then any I'll get._

She looked outside, at the dingy city streets passing her by.

_I'm done with Lawndale. There's nothing here for me. Even if I don't get that job with Val Magazine. I'm not coming back. I'm never coming back. I can't stay here anymore. I'm sorry, Mom, Dad, Angela, but I have to go._

Silent tears ran down her cheeks, but she didn't make a sound, as another piece of her heart broke deep inside her.

Life with Val, and Val Magazine, wasn't so bad, Sandi would tell herself. She had a great job, a beautiful new convertible, and fame. After her book came out, (with Val as the co-author) people wanted Sandi's attention again. It made her feel important. Still, she had a hollow feeling deep inside. Angela visited her as often as she could, one of the bright spots.

Still, Sandi did her job. Her tight, professional smile, so like her mother's, never cracked. She was charming when she needed to be, could seduce a man with smile and a light touch. She developed contacts, knew all the right people to talk to, always knew just the right thing to say.

She found another dojo to train at, and poured herself into her lessons. It wasn't the same as training with Angela, but she still enjoyed it. Her intensity during class sometimes intimidated her sparring partners. Janet Nichols, her sensei, thought highly of her.

"Sandi, I really wish you'd consider competing."

"Um, like, thanks, but I just do this for the, like, exercise, you know."

"I'm not kidding. You have a natural grace that's hard to beat. I think you'd do good."

"Um, Val might not like it. She doesn't really know I'm doing this. She wouldn't think it was, well, ladylike. It gets really nasty in the magazine industry."

Janet sighed. Hearing Sandi's valley girl talk coming out like that always meant her insecurity was rising.

"That's a shame , Sandi, but I do understand. By the way, if you'd like to expand your training, I'm running a self defense class on weekends. You're getting really good in your regular lessons. This will cover every day situations, when you should fight and when you shouldn't."

Sandi looked startled, like she hadn't really imagined using her karate outside the studio. Other than her lessons, Janet didn't really know much about Sandi, other than that she was a columnist for that Val Magazine, some teen gossip rag. Celebrity gossip. She didn't come across as the soulless demon bitch her victims described her as. Cool, reserved, with an underlying sadness.

"Um, would I have to talk or anything?"

"No, you'd just watch the moves and situations, then use them in practice. It's just a different sort of drill, really. And before you ask, it will be women only."

Sandi stared down at the floor, her body tensed for a long minute, before she relaxed with a visible effort.

"Do I show it that bad?"

"How long ago was it?"

"Back during my junior year in high school. Nothing special, just your basic kidnaping and gang rape. One of my friends from high school is getting married to one of them."

Sandi spun on her heel and ran back into the locker room. The hiss of a shower running soon followed. Janet stared sadly at the closed door.

To Janet's surprise, Sandi was there that weekend. She was dressed in a warmup suit, her hair pinned back. Janet wasted no time starting the class.

"Ladies, this class is self defense for women. Have any of you had any martial arts training?"

A few hands went up. Sandi hesitated before she raised hers.

"That's good. You'll know most of the moves already then. What's different about today is that they'll be used in physical contact. I want to make one thing clear! I'm not teaching you to start fights! Let's face it, on the average, most men are bigger than most women. Period. That's a fact. And size does matter in a fight. Does anybody here know who Bruce Lee was?"

Most of the older women nodded, but the younger ones just looked confused.

"He was a famous martial artist, who broke into first tv, than the movies, starting in the Sixty's. He was absolute magic, but his advice was always practical, and to the point. When several women at a publishing firm asked him the best thing to do in a mugging attack, he said, "Kick the in the knee, and run like hell. That what I want you to think about. Kick, and run. Break their hold. You strike, then move. You are not Chuck Norris or Jet Li. You run!"

Several of the women frowned, while other nodded slowly. Janet purposely avoided looking at Sandi, but was relived when she didn't get up and leave. Sandi joined the other women in following instructions during the warm up exercises. Front kick, back kick, side kick. The familiar rhythm of the exercises soothed Sandi, steaded her racing thoughts. She wasn't going to break down this time, zone out. Quinn and Stacy hadn't believed her, why should she care about them?

Sandi sank deeper into her kata, her exercises. Punch, kick, punch, kick. Don't panic. Never panic. Control your breathing. Slowly in, hold, than slowly out. Focus, punch, kick. Twist, kick, punch. Above all, control. Sandi relaxed even further. She learned not to freeze when a stranger grabbed at her. The fact that it was all under controlled circumstances didn't disturb her. Sandi liked the routine. Routine was planned, expected.

Routine was safe.

The strikes were familiar, too. Overhead strike. Open handed strike. Forearm strike. Twist away, break their hold. This practical use for her martial arts training stirred something deep inside her. She slowly came to realize this was why Angela had encouraged her to take Tae Kwon Do. Piece by piece, Sandi was slowly rebuilding her shattered confidence, hidden for so long under her hip mask.

Sandi eased her way thru the party, exchanging a kiss on the cheek here, a hug there, a sly whisper in an eager ear. Celebrities weren't any more or less dishonest than regular people, Sandi had discovered. They certainly had all the same faults. Drug use, illicit sex, even cheating on their taxes. Val trusted Sandi to dig thru the chaff, to find the sensual and titillatingbits that made people talk. Everybody was always ready to share damaging news about a rival, or even better, an ex-lover. Sandi quickly lost what was left of her innocence about the number and types of sexual practices people engaged in. Her natural coolness, hidden behind the charming smile, kept her out of some serious problems. A lot of celebrity hanger's on were eager to get something on her, just as insurance. Val had warned her, too. Sandi was a valuable piece of corporate property, after all. Besides, Val liked Sandi, a fact which had surprised her. Not just as an employee, either. Val felt somewhat maternal around the young woman.

"Hey! How's Val's favorite little kiss up, today?"

Sandi's body stiffened, though her smile never wavered. Billy Clark glared at her, his face a deep red under his streaked blonde hair, his tall body gaunt. He had been a rising star in Val's inner circle, but Sandi had speedily overtaken him. His heavy cocaine habit hadn't helped him, either. Sandi lashed back.

"_**William**_, Val isn't going to like it if you make another scene, she's already warned you."

"You freaking little bi---!"

Sandi restrained her natural biting comeback with an effort. Several guest were already glancing their way, attracted by Billy's outburst.

"All right, so I'm a bi---! Now calm down! Do your job!"

"I know how to do my job! In fact, " here his voice lowered ominously, and in spite of herself, Sandi leaned in toward the man. He grinned, relishing his next words.

"In fact, I know you like it _**rough**_, eh, Sandi?"

Snickering at the stricken look that flashed over her suddenly pale face, he grabbed her shoulder and squeezed hard, pulling her toward him.

"Really rough! I know, cause I've got some very clear pictures you might be interested in!"

Everything Sandi thought she had accomplished seemed to shatter all around her, like broken glass.

"So, Sandi, let's have a nice long talk."

Sandi struggled out of her panic, only her long training in self control carrying her on. Never show how much things hurt.

"I, I don't see what we have to, like, talk about."

"No? How about where I got the pictures? Or the fact that a lot of people would just love to see you knocked down into the street, where you belong. How about your little girl friend, what was her name? Oh, yeah, Quinn."

Sandi snarled at him.

"You can go to hell! I was raped, and when Val finds out what you're trying to do!"

"Val isn't going to save you this time! She'll just feature your shocking story on page one, just like that Misery Chicks, and her little artist friend! You know how she'll play it. She always does."

Sandi's trust in Val shook.

"Where, where did you get pictures? The police didn't even believe me!"

"Oh, no, I'm not that high! Damn, you're naive, girl. There's no such thing as secrets, you should know that! Nothing is secret, you of all people should know that."

He shrugged and turned away, walking confidently out of the room. Sandi looked around her at the small crowd that had gathered. Their faces were blank, smiling. Her shoulders sagging, Sandi followed Billy out of the door. Frustration, humiliation, despair burned deep inside of her, fusing into a white hot fury that flushed throughout Sandi's hollow spirit. Sandi looked ahead, at Billy's back, her long thin fingers flexing.

And she smiled.


End file.
